


A Pirate and a Mercenary Walk Into a Bar (A Love Story)

by faeleverte



Series: A Pirate and Mercenary Love Story [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual Character, Genderqueer Character, Old spies never die, Other, Sexual Content, Sexual Identity, romantic identity, they just move to Copenhagen and spread lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeleverte/pseuds/faeleverte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Fury has just witnessed the collapse of everything he held dear, the organization he sacrificed his very life for, that he gave up any chance of a <i>normal</i> life for. He can't fix everything that HYDRA broke, but maybe he can make up for the damage SHIELD caused at least one person. </p><p>Waarzegster is trying to rebuild their life after their encounter with Coulson and Ronin in a convent garden in Peru nearly a year before left them broke, lonely, and uncertain who to trust. They don't have much left, but they'll do what they can to make the world a little less hopeless.</p><p>Maybe the two of them working together can fix global security. Maybe they can just have fun trying.</p><p>Maybe they'll both find exactly what they need to start to heal all their old scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a lot of discussion of what is gender, what is sexuality, and where the two overlap. This story also does involve a person who identifies as asexual/heteroromantic in sexual situations with someone who does not identify as his preferred gender. His reasoning is explained. None of the sexual contact is explicit. 
> 
> Mind your comfort level.

This was not the life they had envisioned for themself. It wasn't the life they had built, but it was what they were left with after Peru. After SHIELD. After a single miscalculation in a twilight-dim convent garden had cost them their lovely home and everything within it. They knew their hair was badly in need of a dye, the silver that now threaded through the blond roots showing starkly against what was left of the black that had become their accustomed color over the last decade. And the clothing, although stylish-- an oversized black sweater with a chunky cowl collar over a pair of black skinny jeans (and oh! How frustrating it was to have to search for long enough sleeves and pant legs without the budget for bespoke)-- was certainly not up to par. 

But their shiny accessories had been confiscated with the rest of the contents of their sunlit, airy flat back in Lima, and there hadn’t yet been enough income to replace the contents of their box of gaudies. Just a single glowing emerald, antique and set in white gold, decorated their hand, leaving their other fingers bare and bereft (the other rings they had collected were yellow gold and simply wouldn't coordinate).

It could be worse, they supposed. At least they were no longer trapped in that bitter cold box of a cell where they’d been taken after their arrest, half-starved from intolerable food, and endlessly, silently overseen but never looked at by the compassionless jailors that refused to speak to them, as if they was beneath notice. When the Fridge had been cracked open, they weren’t going to miss the opportunity to escape, but it had been terrifying. They hadn't known who to trust, who was still alive, and who was buying the intel they had to sell. International espionage had ground to a halt for weeks, and taken their meal ticket with it. Eventually, however, the usual suspects had gone looking for reliable sources, and their network was slowly beginning to crawl back to them, knowing that at least they weren't affiliated with the skull-faced squid.

 _Cursed Lima! And twice the curse for SHIELD! Triple that for HYDRA!_ They snorted derisively and slowly sucked the final swallow out of their glass, thumping it back onto the bar as if they found it personally offensive that it was now empty.

“You look like you’re having it about as rough as I am. Buy you a drink?”

Waarzegster looked up from their empty glass, eyes wary, as a newcomer sat down, leaving one empty stool between them. The man was dressed like a hobo: a hoodie under a leather jacket that had clearly seen better days, jeans fraying at the cuffs and around the seams; he was clearly too old for the wardrobe to be a fashion statement, so it must be all the man had. He didn’t remove his dark, scratched sunglasses in the dimness of the bar, but Zeg had no doubt he was watching them, observing all the details. Unlike most actual residents of the streets that Zeg had known (or been) through the years, this man and his tattered clothing were both clean, if quite rumpled. And, unlike the clothing, the man himself was terribly, terribly attractive. They forced themself to keep their hands off of their hair, but it was oh-so-tempting to reach up to make sure the strands were patted into place, silvering be damned. The man smiled at them through his slightly overgrown goatee and shoved the hood back to reveal a bald scalp, prickled with velvet-fine new growth.

“It _has_ been a trying time,” Zeg replied coldly, pulling their scarlet-painted lips into a thin line. “But you were already aware of that, weren’t you.” Even without the dramatic coat or typical eyepatch, this one was _not_ hard to identify from even the roughest description, let alone the photos in the file on a shelf in Zeg's flat. 

“Hey, I’m just here to get a drink. Maybe a little conversation. Don’t wanna start a fight.” The man raised a hand for the barkeep’s attention and ordered a scotch, neat, for himself. “And whatever my friend here is drinking.”

“Friend?” Zeg couldn’t keep the scorn out of their voice. “You would call us your ‘friend?’ After how we were treated while in your… _tender_ care? After you _forgot_ us in that place, leaving us among the criminals and the insane, the experimental freaks that you kept as pets?”

“Hey, look.” The man turned to face them squarely, sunglasses still solidly on his nose, but Zeg could feel the weight of the sharp, one-eyed gaze from behind the lenses. “You never should have ended up in the Fridge, all right? That was a mistake on SHIELD’s part. Leaving you in there was an oversight on mine. But _you_ shouldn’t have threatened Coulson’s life, especially not when he had an admirer nosing around, providing backup. That dumb mistake was all yours. Know your enemies and all that.”

Zeg glared for a long moment, keeping their eyes fixed firmly on the man’s right lens. They would not be intimidated. Even if they had acted foolishly, impulsively, in going after one of SHIELD's brightest stars without adequate backup. Still, no shame in going down to the best, and what came after had been… complicated. The hidden playing pieces caused a great deal of difficulty for a large number of people, this man most of all. Finally they sighed and conceded the point with a small nod.

“We had perhaps grown too complacent.” Zeg thought of the cozy, tent-like booth in the Mercado, their closet full of beautiful clothing, the ease of their life when all the contacts they could hope for walked in through the front door bringing payments of money and jewels and, best of all, secrets of their own. They had thought they were untouchable there, and, as a result, they had forgotten to pay attention to what was happening half a world away, unaware of the consequences it could hold for them. Maybe it was a sign they were getting old. Maybe they had been too distracted by their own involvement in South American politics.

“Clearly.” The man nodded a thanks to the bartender as their drinks were set in front of them. “So what say we start fresh and see if we can’t help each other out. You have something I want, and I have lots and lots of ways to pay for it.”

Zeg opened their mouth, but no sounds came out, so they closed it again hoping they didn’t look too fish-like. This was… a different game. Zeg found themself intrigued against their own better judgement. What could they possibly have of interest to _this_ one? 

“I’m Marcus.” The man turned, drink held loosely in his left hand, right stretched out to shake. “Marcus Johnson.” 

“Hello, Mr. Johnson.” Zeg accepted the proffered hand, their own long, thin, pale fingers being swallowed by the muscular thickness of his powerful, dark grip. They fought off the urge to grin, keeping their smile small and, hopefully, mysterious. They tipped their chin down, slanting their eyes up through their lashes. And _Oh God, I’m flirting._ “We are called Waarzegster.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Marcus Johnson took a drink. “So that’s an unusual name. How’d you come by it?”

“In the early days, it was our job to tell fortunes.” Zeg couldn’t help the nostalgic twist to their lips. “It was simple, really. If someone’s name came up in our business, well, their future did not look terribly _lengthy_.” They dragged themself back to the immediate and smiled warmly. “Your own name is… _different._ How did it come to you?”

“My mama gave it to me.” Marcus’s face shifted, lightened, covered in an expression that could only be called impish. “God’s honest truth.”

“We don’t believe in gods, Mr. Johnson.” Zeg frowned thoughtfully. “If there were gods, there would be no need of people like us.”

“You see yourself doing the work of a _god?_ ” Marcus slid the glasses down his nose to peer over them with his one good eye and the scarred, milky, blind one. 

“Oh goodness no!” Zeg waved the thought away with the impatient flutter of one hand. “We are merely the kind of creature one gets when there is no god to keep the world in check. We would think you understood _that_ concept.” They took another sip of their drink.

Marcus jerked his shoulders in something like acceptance. He threw back the dregs of his glass and signaled for another before again turning to face Zeg across the empty stool.

“So what’s a looker like you doing in a damned dive like this?”

“Flirting, Mr. Johnson?” Zeg found themself smiling, just the tiniest tug at the corner of their lips, as they matched his playful tone. “From all we have heard, that is wildly out of character!” 

“Then you haven’t been hearing from the right sources.” Marcus smiled over the rim of his fresh glass, lopsided and ironic. “I flirt plenty. I just don’t care to follow up on it.”

“Mmm.” Zeg took a dainty sip from their own glass. “Just as well. In spite of all we buy and sell, we don’t sell _that_ at any price.”

“Good for you!” Marcus grinned, bright and genuine, and Zeg wondered at the rumors about this man. He was not nearly so frightening and unapproachable as the stories made him out to be. “Always heard you had standards.”

“And we heard you were seven feet tall, cold as a Siberian winter,” Zeg took another drink, “and that a single glance from your eye could turn men to stone. Also, we heard you were dead. So clearly your information is better than ours.” They gave in to the urge to pat their hair, smoothing it away from one eye.

“Nah, that was someone I used to be.” Marcus snorted a humorless laugh. “And he is most certainly very fucking dead.”

“Ah.” Zeg felt curiosity itching in their throat, but they swallowed back the personal questions, uncertain what the answers to those would cost. Marcus huffed another laugh, a knowing sort of expression flickering across his face. Zeg ignored him and turned back to the bar to work on their drink and analyze the bizarre direction their night had taken. They’d only planned on one small glass of something, just something to soften the edge, warm the coldness of their cramped, squalid little flat. Maybe just to avoid going home, life in general, or the world outside for an extra hour. Anything to forget for just a little while, really.

"So what are you doing here, Mr. Johnson?" Zeg shifted over one stool, deciding the risk of getting in arm's reach was far outweighed by the bits of informative treasure they might gain by sitting closer. Besides, they weren’t unarmed. Although they doubted _Mr. Johnson_ was, either. "You clearly came to find _us_ in particular. What could someone like you possibly need that we would have?"

"No one's talking these days. Not to them, not to my old people, not to me." Marcus leaned his elbows on the bar. "Rumor has it that one of my former people came to see you. And by rumor, I mean he told me he did. He says there are still those as talk to you."

"We do have certain suggestions that our networks are coming back online." Zeg gave him a thin-lipped smile. "The terror of not knowing who to trust was not limited to your organization, Mr. Johnson. _Everyone_ pulled in their operatives. We weren't sure who could be trusted not to sell to your... infestation. You see, as a great believer in the capitalist distribution of world intelligence, we have a real... seafood allergy. There are those as want to take over, which we can understand, even if we'd prefer they didn't. Those criminally insane cephalopods want to burn it all down."

Zeg leaned forward, heedlessly clutching Marcus's wrist, the sudden anger burning through them heating their cheeks and stiffening their jaw. Marcus unconsciously licked his lips, also leaning in. 

"We will not allow them to do that, Mr. Johnson." Zeg's voice slipped into a velvety growl. "We have been many things in our life, but the one thing we will not be is a traitor to everything decent in the world."

"Well then, Waarzegster." Marcus set his glass on the counter and grinned crookedly. "Sounds like we may have a few things to talk about. For now, though, I just want another one of these. Been months since I've had a decent scotch."

"You are... interesting, Mr. Johnson. And you may call us Zeg."

"Thank you." Marcus smiled again, and Zeg found themself staring at his teeth. "And only if you drop the Mr. Johnson thing and call me Marcus."

Zeg inclined their head in acknowledgement, smiled, and then quickly looked down, feeling a most unfamiliar heat, something _very_ different from their earlier anger, in their cheeks. 

The pair drank in silence, Marcus signalling for another for each of them, and Zeg didn’t bother to hide that they were watching, observing. They noted the lines that were etched into the corners of his eyes, around his mouth, across his forehead. His shoulders slumped, dragging imperceptibly lower with every passing swallow.

“You’re tired.” Marcus startled as Zeg broke the easy silence between them. “We two should get out of here, yes? You could…” Zeg bit their lip, considering. They ran their eyes along the line of Marcus’s jaw, the way his jacket pulled tightly across his biceps; even weary, this was a this was a, er, _dangerous_ man, but Zeg was not defenseless. “You could come back to our place. It’s… it’s not much. But it _is_ secure. That much we promise.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly stunned and trying to play it off as mildly baffled. 

“Because you’re _tired_. Real exhaustion. The kind that can make you careless, make you stupid.” Zeg leaned their cheek on a fist, elbow resting on the bar. “We know that kind of tiredness, and you’re going to make a mistake soon if you don’t _do something_ about it. Come back to ours. You can rest there.”

“And what would that set me back?” Marcus straightened his back and turned to face Zeg head-on. 

“Just… We have so many questions. Some important, but most are not.” They swallowed, trying to wet their suddenly-dry throat. “Only a few answers. Not even official. Please, Mr. Johnson. The world is too unsettled for people like you and people like us. If something were to happen to you right now, it would be unpleasant. Our business still has need of you, Mr. Johnson. World security still has need of you.”

Marcus stared at them, face surprisingly soft in the dim lighting of the bar. Zeg kept their expression neutral, refusing to fidget. This offer was being made with a clear conscience. And, well, if they came out of it with a few new secrets, times were hard. They couldn’t be expected not to try for a little bit of information; that was, after all, their livelihood. They carefully didn’t look deeper, ignoring the warm buzz of _intrigue_ that whispered beneath the surface.

“Okay.” He nodded, a faint edge of tension softening out of the lines around his mouth. “That’s fair enough. Just for a little bit, though. It’d be nice to not have to look over my shoulder for five damn minutes.”

Zeg smiled and reached for their glass to finish the last swallow, while Marcus flagged the bartender over to close both of their tabs.

“Thank you for the drink.” Zeg picked at a fuzz on the edge of their long black sweater. “Drinks. I…” They looked up to find Marcus staring at their hands, at the paleness against the midnight. “We thank you.”

____

Zeg splayed their palm against the hidden panel beside their door, leaning in to let it read their retinal scan before glancing over their shoulder at Marcus. He was leaning against the wall, eyes nearly closed, but Zeg did not think he was nearly so relaxed or unaware as he looked. They tried to speak quietly for the voice print. 

“Ik ben een kleine theepot.” A snort behind them clearly indicated they weren’t quiet enough.

“You’re a little teapot?” Marcus was laughing at them, but politely trying to stifle his amusement.

Zeg bit their lip, eyes drifting to the ceiling to fight off the blush that threatened to heat their cheeks. “An inside joke that has long since lost all context.” They heard Marcus shift away from the wall and step up behind them as the lock clicked open and the security system whined its way into standby. 

“It’s rather… plebian.” Zeg opened the door of the flat and stepped in, hand on the gun at their hip as they scanned the single room for threats. Marcus’s chest bumped their back, and they stepped aside to let him through the doorway. They nodded sharply at him before going to examine the bathroom and behind the curtain of their closet. “Clear,” they called over their shoulder.

Marcus immediately sagged and crossed to sink onto one end of the sofa. It was really much closer to a loveseat, and Zeg pertly arranged themself at the opposite end, trying to keep their limbs contained as they sat. 

“We’d offer you a drink or some food, but we’re afraid we have next to nothing in.” They smiled blandly. “Sorry. We could make coffee?”

“Not looking for hospitality, Zeg.” Marcus leaned down to unlace his boots, easing his socked feet up onto the edge of the low cocktail table. Zeg followed his example, crossing their long legs at the slender ankles. “Just looking for a few minutes of quiet.”

“Well, what we have, you’re welcome to.” They gestured around the small, crowded room. There was a counter along one wall with a tiny fridge, a washing machine, and a curtained section of shelves below. The top contained a large sink and a double hotplate. The far wall held a bed piled high in silk throws and pillows, rumpled and speaking of long days spend in it for warmth and to avoid the world. The next wall, in front of them, contained a fireplace, the closet, and the open door to the microscopic three-quarters bath beyond; the last wall held a shelf stuffed with books and files and the door from the hallway. 

“It’s fine. Homey, even.” Marcus eased his sunglasses off his nose, dropping them onto the table, and pressed his fingers to his eyebrows. “I trust you have a decent security setup?”

"We're still alive, aren't we?" Zeg lifted one plucked eyebrow; who _did_ he think he was speaking to? “Would you mind a fire? We’re afraid the heat in this place leaves much to be desired. And after the temperatures of the appropriately named ‘Fridge,’ we’re afraid we’ll never be warm enough again.”

Marcus nodded. “That sounds damn good, with the temperatures dropping out there.”

Five minutes after the fire was lit and Zeg was curled underneath a throw from the back of the couch, Marcus was nodding off on his corner of the couch. Zeg uncurled their legs from the blanket to poke him in the thigh with a toe. 

“Mr. Johnson.” Another poke. “Mr. Johnson!”

“Thought I told you to call me Marcus.” He grinned up from the ruffled-looking heap he’d sunk into. 

“Marcus, then,” Zeg snapped, flinging off the blanket and stretching. “You are clearly exhausted. We are going to assume you have been sleeping rough, if your appearance is anything to go by. For tonight you will take our bed.”

“Don’t sleep.” Marcus mumbled, settling deeper into his jackets and himself, already half gone. “I don’t really let my guard down enough to sleep. ‘M fine here.”

“Like hell you are!” Zeg swung their feet to the floor and stood, catching Marcus with one hand under his arm to pull him to his feet. “Tonight you are as safe as you will ever be, and tonight you will sleep.”

“You’re stronger than you look.” Marcus swayed slightly, and Zeg reached for his other arm with their spare hand. “Why the hell do you care if I sleep or not?”

Zeg sighed. “We don’t really know. Perhaps it is just that we, better than anyone else could possibly be, are aware of how much this HYDRA situation has damaged. Had it not been for your John Garrett going to the other side and using that _ridiculous_ name, your Coulson would not have come nosing around our very comfortable setup in Peru. And, had HYDRA not been preparing to make a move, we would likely not have ended up in your Fridge. And, had none of that nonsense in Washington happened…” Zeg trailed off, squeezing the biceps under their slender hands gently. “Well, _Director_ , we understand.”

Marcus stared at them, expression pointedly showing none of his thoughts. He blinked rapidly several times before answering.“I’ll lie down, but I don’t promise to sleep.”

“Fine.” And Zeg pulled him across the room to the bed. “Take off all your clothing and get on your stomach. We will see to it that you _do_ rest tonight. ‘Can’t let your guard down enough!’ Most ridiculous thing we have ever heard! Where do you think you are? What kind of home do you think we would have!” They snorted as they breezed off to the bathroom, muttering all the way.

____

Nick sat on the edge of the bed where he’d been unceremoniously put, toying with a loose thread on a thick, down comforter. He wondered what he was doing here, in this apartment, on this bed. He wondered why he’d given Zeg the name _Marcus_. And he mostly was wondering why he had started drinking. He wasn’t _drunk_ , certainly, but he was a bit too loose and slow to be in a room with one of the top assassins in the world. He was _far_ too loose and too slow to be in a room with someone that he found so _interesting_. 

Zeg was dressed in a long, loose, black silk robe when they returned, carrying a small, ceramic bowl that they carefully set down on the nightstand. The gap at the neck of the robe displayed a line of sharp collarbone, and the belted waist cinched in enough to show an unnatural thinness. He’d spend the whole evening at the bar trying not to stare at the delicate bones of their wrists, the tiny glimpses of their long, thin neck, pale behind the black sweater. And now it was all on display, creamy smooth and hypnotic. Nick didn’t quite have to shove his hands beneath his thighs to keep from reaching out to run his fingertips over that collarbone or his palms over those tiny hips, but it was a near thing.

“We do believe we said _remove_ your clothing, no?” Zeg’s pissed off face was both intimidating and amusing. Their thin lips were pressed together, and they were squinting their large, dark blue eyes nearly shut. “So…”

“Why?” Nick stayed seated on the bed, fully clothed, watching Zeg stretch their fingers, rubbing their hands together as if to warm them. 

“You’re going to have a massage.” Zeg reached into the bowl and held up a corked bottle of oil, drips of steaming water falling from the sides. “We have been informed that we are very good at it, and you, _Marcus_ , need relaxation more than anyone we have ever seen.”

And the hell of it was, that sounded really damn good. It had been such an incredibly long time since anyone had touched him more than clinically, more than violently. And now he was being offered a bed (a _real_ bed) and a chance to let go, just a little bit. And Zeg had been right. He was just _so tired._ Hell, if he was gonna end up dead, might as well die not wearing the clothing he’d slept in the night before. 

He wrestled his way out of his jackets and shirts and jeans, tossing his socks on top of the pile before climbing onto the bed.

Zeg leaned down, and Nick flinched as they popped the waistband of his boxerbriefs. “That goes for these, too. And lie down on your _stomach_.”

He grumbled, but rolled over, sliding his underwear down his legs and trying not to feel too exposed. The mattress dipped near his feet as Zeg sat carefully at the foot of the bed. Marcus tensed, waiting for a touch, not sure he would welcome the sensation.

“You are an attractive man, Marcus.” Zeg trailed one hand down the back of a thick calf, and Marcus shivered at both the contact and the mental image that slowly built of the contrast of their pale fingers against his dark leg. “Pity you have no interest in the more physical side of things.”

“Would you rather I did?” Nick twisted to look down at them, a half-smile curling his lips. Zeg's now-washed face softened into a quietly pleased expression, and the change from the pinched, angry, made-up face tucked away behind the long sweep of hair at the bar was electrifying. For one half-caught breath, he thought he could be interested. A little. Maybe. Probably not.

“Not really, no.” Zeg wiggled the cork free from the bottle and poured a small amount of oil into their palm before rubbing their hands together. “This is… more than adequate.”

“Were you just trying to get me naked in your bed, Zeg?” Nick sank back to the mattress as Zeg began to twist the toes of his right foot. He sighed comfortably. Contact not just welcome, then, but thoroughly enjoyable. “Just wanted to get your hands all over me?”

“It wasn’t even on our radar, Marcus.” Their voice was surprisingly gentle, completely counter to the rough pressure of their hands moving up the arch of his foot. “But we’re not so blind that we cannot see when someone needs our help.”

Nick hadn't planned on needing help. He’d gone to Copenhagen to search for Zeg on Clint’s recommendation, to see if they were still holed up there. At the bar, Nick hadn’t lied about needing information and access to an informant network, but most of the reason he had gone was Zeg, specifically. To see if there was any way he could make up for all that SHIELD had done to them. Arresting them for threatening Coulson’s life? Nick wasn’t gonna apologize for that. Letting them get removed from Peruvian custody and taken to the Fridge? That was a problem that should have landed on Nick’s desk. The fact that Zeg had somehow been _forgotten_ in the Fridge, abandoned in a cell until Garrett and Ward had cracked the whole place wide open? Well, that was unforgivable.

But Nick had brought information with him, intelligence not available to anyone else in the world. He hoped that it would make up for some of what had been done. That it could, perhaps, regain a little good will for Phil to use in the future. Maybe get a little good will for himself, just in case. Waarzegster was still known as both a very dangerous enemy and an extremely powerful ally. Their head held many secrets, and very few were willing to see if their reputation as an assassin was still deserved. 

And now, here he was, naked, in Zeg’s bed, getting a massage. It wasn’t _quite_ the good will he’d been looking for, but Nick would take it, just for tonight. The touch was good. And the person touching was-- not to put too fine a point on it-- gorgeous. With their perfectly-shaped lips and their delicate face, Zeg would have been attractive _without_ the edge of danger they carried in their sharp eyes and the precision of their movements. Nick knew from talking to Barton that Zeg was over fifty, but they looked easily ten years younger than they were (and that made enough of a visual and mental gap to make him feel like a dirty old man). He also knew they didn’t identify as a woman, but they had been absolutely lovely and just feminine enough to catch his eye at the bar before he’d identified them as his contact.

There was a long moment of silence while Zeg worked over his second foot. Nick broke it with a groan of bliss, shifting to settle his body more comfortably. God, he was tired. Zeg had been right, back at the bar: he was fucking _exhausted_. Worn down to the point of carelessness. Tired to the point of not caring at all. Zeg pinched hard on his heel, and his entire left leg went limp against the bed. Comfortable bed. Expensive sheets.

“Thanks.” Nick rubbed his stubbled cheek against the smooth, dark red fabric under his face and closed his eyes.

Zeg hummed in reply and settled their weight onto Marcus’s shins as they worked their way up his legs. He groaned and panted under those wonderful hands, skillful fingers seeming to reach into knots in the muscles to gently untangle them. If Zeg was actually inclined to kill him, Nick hoped that his death came from relaxation overload. It didn’t seem entirely implausible. 

By the time Zeg was kneading at Nick’s scalp, he was too limp to even moan, sinking into the bed and exhaling hard. The black silk robe trailed behind Zeg’s legs, covering Nick's thighs and buttocks, adding a deliciously cool, sensuous slide to contrast with the firm, warm hands. The effects were maddeningly enticing, and he wondered how long it could continue.

“It’s time for you to turn over, Marcus.” Zeg patted his shoulder before rolling easily to the side, sweeping the robe along with them. The swoop of the silk across his naked back made Nick shiver, but he couldn't collect enough of his now-liquid muscles to shift. “You have to move so we can finish what we started. We’re afraid you’re going to be very _sore_ tomorrow after being worked over like this, and we won’t be able to touch any your muscles again until you begin to heal.”

Nick grunted in protest, unwilling to move, but couldn’t resist as Zeg’s strong, delicate-appearing hands pulled at his shoulder and hip. 

“And back to the bottom.” They shuffled down the bed and added a few more drops of oil to their hands. Nick watched with hooded eye as they reached toward his skin.

Zeg again started at his feet, oil-slicked hands riding up the muscles along his shins, thin fingers, warm now from contact with his skin, worming into the gaps around his kneecaps. The silk of that infuriating, intoxicating robe slid along his legs as Zeg shifted forward, settling their weight just above Nick's knees. He sighed blissfully, closing his eyes, as those lovely hands began to knead deeply into his thighs, and then it all just... stopped.

"Huh." Zeg sounded vaguely confused, weight rocking back to stare down at Nick’s body. "We thought you said that couldn’t happen."

Nick lifted his head to look down, following Zeg's line of sight. Well, that was unexpected. Clearly all the stroking and sliding and slithering was something his body was _enjoying_.

"I never said couldn't," he clarified, raising an eyebrow as if he could glare the damn thing into submission. It didn't work. "Just... doesn't. Generally speaking."

"Well it _did_." Zeg gestured with both hands, a tiny wrinkle folding between the perfectly-plucked, still-thick brows. Nick choked down a laugh. They were both adorable and hilarious when annoyed.

"Clearly." Nick scowled to keep his amusement in check, still propped up to watch Zeg. 

"Need a hand with it?" Zeg’s voice was exaggeratedly casual as they resumed the massage, working their hands over his hips, fingers pressing into his flanks. Nick felt his knees drop open an inch as the muscles let go.

"Nah. Just ignore it. It'll go away." Most likely. Usually. He hoped. 

Several minutes passed, and Nick sank back against the pillows while Zeg stroked and petted, dug in hard in some places and smoothed softly over others.

"It's not,” Zeg said. And then they needlessly clarified. “Going away.”

"Well it would if you'd stop playing with it." Nick tried to swallow a laugh, but half of it escaped in a choked sort of snort. Zeg’s fingers repeated their path again, trailing warmly through thick, wiry curls and sliding along hot, hard flesh.

"We are not _playing._ It's just a massage." Zeg brushed their long bangs out of their face with a forearm. "So you never... er… You haven’t..." They trailed off awkwardly, clearly uncertain how much was okay to ask. It appeared no one was more sensitive about sensitive questions than Zeg.

Nick let the question hover for a beat too long before deciding to put them out of their misery. 

"Not in an incredibly long time. Not _never_. Just… not any time in the last… _Whew_." Nick tried to remember the last time he'd been an active participant. Nothing sprang instantly to mind. "Nearly forever, it seems. Not since I learned to find partners who were less… sex-oriented as the end-goal."

"You’re beginning to relax." Zeg shifted higher to begin running their hands over his stomach, kneading the tiny hint of paunch that had developed in his decade of primarily jockeying a desk. He hummed softly in pleasure and let his body go loose across the mattress. "Have you considered masturbation as a relaxation technique, if you don’t wish to have sex? Physical release is healthy."

"Can't say that's something I've ever been into." He sighed as Zeg lifted his hand to massage his fingers and palm. “That’s nice, Zeg. Didn’t realize my hands could feel so tight. Not something I’m all that interested in doing at this stage of the game. Jacking off for my health or whatever.”

“You really need to show some concern for your body.” Zeg moved their fingers up the knotted muscles of Nick’s forearm. “We could… assist you. If you needed the assistance. To find a way to make it pleasurable for you, we mean. Not that...” A hot blush was tinting their pale cheeks, making its way across the bridge of their long nose.

“Zeg, we’re not going any further than we are right here.” Nick closed his eyes and let his head loll as Zeg switched to the other arm.

"That’s not… I didn’t mean." Zeg voice tightened more. “We weren’t _implying_ anything. We merely meant that we would provide you with space and… and _supplies_ should you require…” They heaved a sigh that might have been a snort of exasperation. “We just think you should…” They trailed off again; clearly, there was no good way to finish that sentence.

Nick fought down another laugh. _Mother hen._

"You aren't young enough to just ignore things," Zeg said, self-righteous and prim.

Nick refused to dignify _that_ observation with an answer.

Zeg dug deeply into Nick’s shoulders, stroked firmly along his neck, and then treated the planes of his face to gentle, sweeping strokes. As their fingers drifted over his scalp again, Nick found his entire body going limp in a way it hadn’t done in more than two decades. Climbing to their feet, Zeg pressed a dry kiss to Nick's temple as they settled a blanket over his chest, tenderly tucking it under his chin. 

"Now you sleep. We'll be on the couch." They moved away, walking around the room, flipping off the overhead light and a couple of small lamps, leaving the fireplace as the room's only illumination.

"Zeg." Nick struggled against the lassitude in his well-rubbed muscles to sit up and watch them dig a blanket out of the bottom of the curtained closet. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"It's fine. The bed is occupied, and, as we haven't found the guest room yet..." They crossed the room to grab a couple of spare pillows off the bed. Nick caught their wrist, shaking until one of the pillows landed beside his hip. 

"That couch is tiny, and you're a damned giant. Get in this bed, Zeg." He scooted aside, free hand raising the covers, shivering as the cool air of the room washed across his thigh. "Under the covers, Waarzegster. Come on. In."

Zeg clutched their remaining pillow to their thin chest, eyes widening fearfully in the shadows. "But you said..."

"Not like that." Nick tugged on their wrist again. "Just... it's a big bed."

He watched them hesitate a beat longer, and then they returned both pillows to the head of the bed and climbed reluctantly between the sheets. Nick sighed and rolled to his side, facing away from Zeg.

"You don't have to try to hover on the edge there, you know." He wiggled suggestively. "I mean, you've had your hands all over me. And I'm talking _all over_ , here. You'd be warmer a little closer."

The bed jiggled, rattled, shifted, and then a hesitant arm slid over his ribs. The silk of that tantalizing robe brushed his lower back, but Zeg didn't move closer.

"Get over here." Nick caught the arm resting on his side and tugged gently, sighing with contentment when a hard, warm chest rested lightly against his back. "That's what I'm talking about." He sighed again and let his now relaxed body go completely slack, sagging into Zeg's embrace.

"Goodnight, Marcus." Zeg's voice was already soft, drowsy.

"Night Zeg." Nick patted the smooth hand that was lightly combing through his chest hair. Having them this close, he’d know if they made any sudden moves against him. And, if their body was warm, comforting against his back-- well, that didn’t need mentioning. "Looking forward to sleeping for a change."

He closed his eyes, matched his breathing to the way they puffed warm air against the back of his head, and instantly dropped into a sleep that, while not dreamless, was still much more welcoming than any rest he'd gotten in more than a year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There weren’t words for what Zeg was feeling. At least, none that they knew. No feeling they had experienced to match the comfort and ease of the quiet between them both. They were honest enough with themself to admit that their reasons for bringing Marcus home that first night were not entirely altruistic. Certainly, they knew that he held secrets that anyone in Zeg’s business would kill for. Probably _had_ killed for. But it was not just the possibility of such tantalizing information that had made Zeg offer a night of security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNINGS:** Insecurity issues relating to the biological presentation of sexual organs/gender; Insecurity relating to sexual orientation; mentions of child abandonment/abuse
> 
> And yet very tender and fluffy, for all of that.

"Tomorrow we're taking you shopping." Zeg stroked their long fingers over the freshly shaved scalp that rested against their chest. Marcus rumbled wordlessly in reply, swiping his finger across the screen of Zeg’s tablet, shoulder flexing against their stomach. They smiled indulgently down at the top of his head, fully aware that he hadn’t heard what they had just said. Zeg went back to petting Marcus’s smooth head.

Somewhere around the end of Week One of Marcus’s stay, this _cuddling_ \-- and there was no other word for it-- had become routine. During those first few days, they had both avoided touching one another, both pretending they didn’t spend nights curled together, Marcus stark naked and Zeg wearing only a thin layer of silk. Ignoring the frequency and _thoroughness_ of the massages Zeg gave him. Evenings saw them sitting awkwardly at opposite ends of the loveseat, trying not to bump their shoulders together while Zeg attempted to read and Marcus perused news sites to watch the total collapse of everything he had built. Zeg’s utter failure to read was related to their inability to look away from Marcus’s face as it went stonier and angrier against the crushing guilt and sorrow he was clearly feeling, unable to reach out and smooth it all away with a touch or a word.

For a few days, their evenings had gone that way until the night Marcus had fallen asleep during their before-bed ritual, only to wake minutes later with his eye wild, body tight and sweating, terror written on every feature. Without considering the implications, Zeg had collected him in their arms, drawing him close and running their fingers over and over his scalp, his face, his neck, until the trembling stopped and he had relaxed, drifting back to sleep in Zeg’s embrace. From that time on, when the book and the tablet came out, they lounged together comfortably, as much as two six foot humans could manage on the tiny loveseat. Sometimes Marcus was the pillow, Zeg draped loosely across his massive chest and ribs. 

Most nights were like this one however. Zeg curled against the arm of the couch, twisted strangely but not uncomfortably, half-crushed under Marcus's blocky shoulders as he sprawled across the rest of the seat. His legs hung over the far arm, kicking as he wiggled himself deeper into their embrace, cuddling into the shared, ridiculously large quilt that held off the autumnal chill. Marcus propped the tablet on his own ribs before settling back into Zeg’s chest, scalp brushing along their jaw. Reading became impossible, and Zeg dropped their book to the floor, silently apologizing for the rough treatment. They couldn’t move with Marcus’s bulk flattening them into the cushions, nor were they willing to ask him to move so they could reach the coffee table. They felt…

No. There weren’t words for what Zeg was feeling. At least, none that they knew. No feeling they had experienced to match the comfort and ease of the quiet between them both. They were honest enough with themself to admit that their reasons for bringing Marcus home that first night were not entirely altruistic. Certainly, they knew that he held secrets that anyone in Zeg’s business would kill for. Probably _had_ killed for. But it was not just the possibility of such tantalizing information that had made Zeg offer a night of security.

Marcus was a very handsome man. The scars on his eye, his face, his body, only added to the air of danger, of power, that Marcus carried in every movement, every look. However, the exhaustion that had etched such deep lines onto his face, the droop to those broad shoulders had been desecrations. In spite of the weariness, in spite of the danger, Marcus also had the most dazzling smile, and Zeg was utterly hypnotized. For the first time in decades, they had found someone _interesting_ , and it was almost embarrassing how badly Zeg had wanted to touch.

And now, now they could. Zeg’s palm smoothed across the top of Marcus’s head, down his cheek, and along the side of his neck, fingers sliding under the edge of the stretched collar of his t-shirt.

“Wait, what?” Marcus rolled his head to look up at Zeg, and they laughed. “You wanna take me _where_?”

“Shopping, Marcus.” They traced a finger down the bridge of his nose, chuckling as his eye tried to follow its path. “Tomorrow. For clothing.”

"Why the hell do you want to do that?" Marcus shifted to press his cheek against Zeg’s sternum. "I'm not, that isn't... shopping isn't my favorite thing. _Why?_ "

"Because you still look like a hobo, and there is no way your ass would fit in any of my trousers." Zeg shifted lower, running their hand down the soft shirt covering his muscle-padded ribs. 

“Trying to change me now?” Marcus smiled. “Or just trying to ease your conscience about how much you spent today?”

Marcus had spent the afternoon digging through some of Zeg's old files looking for contacts that sparked ideas, while Zeg had gone to get their root problem dealt with at a nearby salon. The trip had included cosmetics and clothing, and then a trip for groceries which included a good bottle of wine for themself and an excellent scotch for Marcus. They'd been delighted by the widening of his pupils when they returned, sides and back of their hair clipped short and chic, and the top long, glossy, and cascading over their freshly made up face. Marcus couldn't stop staring at their carmined lips as they talked about the informant who had called while they waited at the perfume counter of another store, and Zeg was secretly delighted that they'd had to repeat everything twice more for him to take it all in. His hands had been drawn into the new sweater that Zeg wore, and they were _certain_ they had caught him staring at their legs, length emphasized by the pinstripes on the wide-legged trousers they now wore.

They pulled gently at Marcus’s torso, easing him more securely into the cradle of their arms, enjoying the warmth and weight of him over their legs, their chest, their hips.

"Don’t be ridiculous, Marcus. We _never_ feel guilty for shopping. However, since it was your information that earned us so very much money this week, it's only fair that you get to spend _some_ of it." They chuckled. "Plus, we are tired of doing your laundry every other day, just to keep you decent."

"Tired of staring at my naked ass already?" His words slurred as he rubbed his face against the cashmere softness of their deep scarlet sweater. 

"Most assuredly not." They wrapped the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, sliding one of their hands under the edge to warm. They tried to hold in the admission that was pressing against their teeth, but it finally shoved itself free. Zeg turned their head to look at the fire, trying to hide the honesty that would surely show up in their eyes, hoping not too much leaked out in their voice. "We would just rather not share the view with anyone else."

"Not gonna happen, Zeg." Marcus disengaged from the tangle of limbs and blanket, pushing himself up against the sofa arm under Zeg's head, wrist bumping Zeg’s cheek to make them meet his gaze. He hovered there, bracketing them under his chest and arms, expression unreadable in the firelight. "Look, I don't know what this is or what we think were doing right now. But, whatever it is, it's nice. Been a month, and it's still nice. So... no sharing. Not right now. I'm not that much of an asshole."

Zeg tried to answer, unable to blink, but all they managed was one helpless squeak. Marcus smiled at the noise, eye sparkling with humor.

"Like that idea?" He chuckled, rough and deep and entirely happy. "I'm surprised at how much I do, too. 'M gonna kiss you now, if that's okay."

"You... Are _you_ okay with that?" They felt their eyes widen, their heart rate speed up, jolting hard against their ribs.

"Yes, Zeg." He laughed again, soft, low, and seductive this time. "Not gonna offer to do a damn thing I don't want to. I quit that shit when I blew up my office."

Zeg's eyes widened further at the first press of his full, warm lips against their own painted mouth, and then their lids drooped shut blissfully at the gentle pressure and slide. They sighed, content, wrapping a hand around each of Marcus's thick arms, holding on and trying to let him lead. 

He pulled back with a soft pop. "I'm not gonna break, b-- Zeg. Kiss me like you mean it."

And Zeg, oh god, did they mean it. One hand tracked up the swell of bicep to clutch at the straining muscles of those giant shoulders, pulling hard. As if there was any room left to get closer. As if they weren’t pressed together, his side down their chest, both twisting in awkward directions. Marcus tensed, growling in his throat as he wrapped both arms around Zeg's still-too-thin frame. He twisted and heaved, and they pulled their legs free to twist with him, ending with Marcus on his back and Zeg perched over him, straddling his stomach.

The kiss was awkward and sloppy, both of them too tall to stretch across the sofa individually, let alone together. Zeg hunched their spine, hair falling across their eyes as Marcus bit at their lips, sensitizing the skin before he pulled away and let Zeg suck at his bottom lip. Marcus’s beard scratched along Zeg’s mouth and chin, leaving them trembling from the heat, the _pleasure_ of having someone touch them after so very, very long alone. They scraped their face over the thick wiry hair of Marcus’s goatee, sighing blissfully as his mustache dragged across their cheekbone while he left a small trail of kisses. A nip to their earlobe had Zeg turning back into the kiss, trying to sink deeper into the muscular body beneath them. 

Marcus’s eyes were closed, and he had one arm locked tightly around Zeg’s waist, holding them both close together. The other hand fitfully stroked up Zeg’s back before sinking back to their hip and squeezing, thumb tracing the sharp tip of their hipbone through all the layers of their clothing. He licked along Zeg’s jaw until he could slide their lips easily back together, and they lay there for a long time, moving together in a soft, shallow, tender kiss.

Zeg finally pulled away from his mouth, and Marcus flipped his arm over his head and grinned, warm and affectionate, up at them. 

"We thought you weren't interested in such things, _Mr. Johnson_ ," they teased, tipping sideways to lean against the back cushions while smoothing back their hair. 

"In sex for its own sake? In messy orgasms and sweaty rutting around?" He lifted one eyebrow. "Not really, no. But hell yes I'm interested in kissing a pretty mouth. In making _you_ feel good." He stroked his palm down the soft sweater covering Zeg's stomach. "You've been good to me, b-- Zeg. For no reason other than basic decency and understanding. I'm used to people kowtowing because of my position. Others have been nice to me out of loyalty. You... you're something I've never seen before. And I think you just get it. And you are altogether gorgeous."

Zeg was certain they looked ridiculous, smile out of control as they stared down at Marcus, perched as they were on his stomach. And, oh, wasn't this the strangest thing: they did understand this man. They knew what it was like to lose everything and scrabble around to rescue the scraps. They knew fearing for their life. They knew _not_ fearing, knowing they were facing the end. They understood being feared more than loved, respected above wanted, and being sought after for what it could earn for a lover.

"And how do you know we're not using you for all those secrets you are holding?" They licked their lips, gratified as all of Marcus’s attention narrowed to the sweep of their tongue. "Because this has been a most profitable week, selling what you've shared so far. Plus, planning where to drop those other things we've been discussing will be both lucrative and very... entertaining."

"That's how I know." Marcus caught their hand to pull them down for one more warm kiss before letting them sit back up and wiggle enough to tuck themself between his hip and the back of the loveseat; a _slightly_ more dignified position than their previous straddle. "You're plotting with me. Not around me, for me, or charging me to go through you. I think that..." He pushed himself to sitting and tangled one large hand in the ends of Zeg's hair, pulling gently. They fought down the urge to moan, keeping their reaction to a sardonic smirk and a raised eyebrow. "I think we could have some fun while this partnership lasts. Out there and in here. If you're interested."

Without looking away from the challenging glint in his warm, brown eye, they tipped their face enough to press a kiss to his wrist.

"We think that this is an excellent proposition." They leaned forward to press another kiss against his still-swollen lips. "And we think we're going to enjoy it very much."

"All my ideas are excellent." Marcus rolled out from under Zeg’s legs, sliding fluidly off the couch. He straightened his shoulders and stretched, arms reaching toward the low ceiling. 

In just one month, Zeg had watched the tension begin to leak out of his muscles, the lines of worry and sleeplessness fade from his face, and the defeated slump ease out of his spine. The physical changes were so very small, but the cumulative effect was breathtaking. Zeg rose gracefully and stroked their palms down his back, sliding from his shoulders, along his spine, and then spreading their hands to rest on his hips.

"You're lovely," they murmured absently, running their hands up the back of the faded-green t-shirt to repeat the downward sweep. Their hands swiped upward again. "Genuinely lovely like this." 

He grunted as they squeezed firmly on one knot of tension they found as their fingers slid up his neck.

"If you're going to keep doing that," he said, letting his head loll back into their palm, "I'm gonna need to be horizontal."

"Let us both go to bed, then." Zeg ducked their head down to kiss the back of his neck. "Just want to go wash our face."

"You know where I'll be." Marcus started peeling his shirt over his head, and Zeg forced themself to go into the bathroom before they could get caught in watching the play of muscle and tendon and dark-burnished skin across his back.

Zeg stroked Marcus's legs, back, arms, and shoulders into full relaxation and then climbed off the bed to begin their nightly ritual of turning off the lights and setting the security system. They checked the guns stashed around the single room and activated the alarm that would jolt anyone coming in by door or window with enough electricity to disable their family line and finally walked back toward the bed. The tail of their customary long, silk robe trailing behind their freshly pedicured, bare feet.

Marcus shifted aside, making room, as they began to crawl beneath the heap of covers.

"You need to lose the robe, b-- Zeg."

"Excuse me?" They began to climb off the mattress, but Marcus caught their wrist, trying to keep them close.

"If I have to be in the altogether, then so do you. Fair's fair." He released their wrist. "Besides, it'll be warmer. Please, Zeg. Let me see you?"

Zeg studied his face in the flickering shadows of the firelight, licked their lips nervously, and finally nodded. They got up slowly, watching Marcus's eye watch them. Shaking hands unknotted the belt, and the robe slipped back slowly, unconsciously seductive as it bared an inch of bone-thin, creamy-white shoulder at a time. It hovered at wrist and hips a moment before slipping free to glide, whispering, to the floor. 

Marcus stared, lips barely parted, unblinking.

"We know it's... we know that..." Zeg folded their thin arms in front of them, barely able to manage a whisper. "Horrifying..."

"You're right." Marcus shifted until he could hold out one arm. "It is. You've got to eat more. Good thing I got here before you actually faded away."

Zeg hesitantly crawled into the bed, and Marcus reeled them in, tucking them snugly against his side, sighing blissfully. They wrapped an arm over his chest, trying not to shiver as the adrenaline and fear slowly faded. Marcus had looked at them, _really_ looked, and hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t shown any fear. Or disgust. Or any inclination to climb out of the bed. 

A treacherous little corner of Zeg’s mind whispered to them: _Not yet, at least._

"You really need to show some concern for your health." He pressed a kiss against their hair as he echoed the words Zeg had spoken on their first night together. "You're not young enough to just ignore things. Eating is important."

Zeg slowly relaxed, and Marcus shifted again to wrap one beefy arm around too-skinny ribs.

"That oil still over there?" He asked, stroking his hands down their back. Zeg hummed an affirmative, and he sat up to reach for the bottle. "On your stomach."

Zeg stretched out, twitching nervously until Marcus's hands touched their feet, firmly stroking from toes to heels. 

"Been thinking about this all day," he murmured. "Having you spread out like this. Not gonna be as good as you at it, but..." He trailed off, running his hands up their calves. They sighed under his touch; not the most skilled massage they’d ever received, but they doubted there had ever been one that made them quite so _happy._

Neither spoke for a long time after that as Marcus ran his palms along Zeg's body, fingers tracing the prominent bones of spine and ribs and shoulder blades. They sighed a few times, when the touch ran across sensitive places, and he smiled each time, brushing those spots again and again with the pads of his callused fingers.

"Roll over." His voice was gruff after he'd spent several moments rubbing his fingers lightly along the delicate skin beneath their ear.

Zeg hesitated, afraid to expose themself again, frightened that repeated viewings would send Marcus away panicking or disgusted.

"Come on, gorgeous. Roll over so I can get the rest of you." He caught their sharp hip and pulled, rolling them nearly into his lap. "Just relax. You've been taking care of me, and now it's my turn."

His hand swiped down Zeg’s body, from shoulder to hip, but his eye was fixed on Zeg’s face. 

“You are so _incredibly_ beautiful, b--Waarzegster.”

____

Zeg's eyes were huge as they stared down at Nick while he shuffled backward to the foot of the bed. He slicked up his hands, his own eyes never leaving their face as he began rubbing tiny circles into the thin skin on the top of their feet. By the time he began sliding his palms up the smooth perfection of their slender legs, their eyes had gone soft, lids drooping until their thick, dark lashes were just visible against the creaminess of their skin.

Nick traced over the knife-sharp edges of their hip bones, but, unlike Zeg’s standard massage routine, he avoided reaching between their legs, choosing instead to sweep his hands over the alarmingly convex dip of their stomach, up the angular planes of their chest, and ending with his fingertips tracing the delicate line of collarbone that had tantalized him all month long. Zeg sighed again, twisting slightly to curl toward Nick's body, and he stretched out along the mattress, pulling them close.

They were pliant, responsive, and soft under his hands, his mouth, his tongue. He couldn’t stop kissing their lips, their hair, their neck. And _God_ , that neck! He bit the delicate skin softly, tugging with lips and teeth. Even in the firelight, Nick could see the hint of pink bruises along the milky whiteness; Zeg was so fair that every brush from his beard left smudges of color behind. And every time they were scratched by his whiskers, Zeg hissed and whined, straining to get closer to Nick’s body, pressing against his chest, his stomach. Curling into his arms as their own hands clung to his back, his shoulders, fingers slipping against Nick’s sweat-dewed skin.

"Want to touch you, Zeg," he said softly into the strands of their hair. His palm smoothed across their chest and down their belly, stilling between the peaks of their jutting hips. "Want to… You okay with this, baby? Can I make you come?"

Zeg's breath stuttered and caught, back arching as they strained toward his touch. Their chest expanded suddenly as they sucked in air, and their whole body jerked as they hissed out a desperate, "Oh, God, yes!"

Nick's hand slid lower. "Want it to be good for you, baby. Need you to feel good." His other arm tightened around their shoulders, pulling them harder, closer. “Need to make you feel good.”

Zeg writhed in his embrace, hissing curses in Dutch. 

"Like this?" Nick shifted lower in the bed, and Zeg rolled, shoulders pressing into Nick’s chest. 

"A bit more..." He let Zeg's fingers tangle with his own and guide him, grinning when they shook under his hand. "Yes, yes. Like that. Just like..." Zeg trailed off into more curses in more languages, combining syllables into a rolling nonsense of pleasure.

The fireplace crackled, and there were muted creaks from the mattress. Zeg went wordless, and Nick whispered things he'd deny if any of them were brought up in daylight. Their hand tightened on his wrist, and their last, breathless gasp was swallowed as Nick pulled them close and pressed his lips against theirs.

Afterward, Nick felt limp, content. He held a thoroughly wrung-out Zeg in his arms, their head cradled against his shoulder, and thought how unbelievably, unquestioningly _right_ the whole thing felt, from the moment he had slid his hands over Zeg’s skin to the easy bliss of afterglow. His ran his fingertips down Zeg’s scraggy back, tracing their spine, their too-prominent ribs. That was something _else_ that he would need to deal with; Zeg _clearly_ needed some feeding and care.

"That was extremely unexpected." They worked an arm out of his embrace to reach up and stroke lightly over his scalp. He privately thought Zeg was getting extremely comfortable with that gesture, and he was forced to wryly acknowledge that he enjoyed the _hell_ out of it. Such a comforting touch, and there had been so very _little_ touch for so long; certainly not enough for someone to pick up such a casual pet gesture. “We thought you didn’t participate in… such things.”

“Don’t need or want it for _me_.” Nick smiled against Zeg’s cheek, nosing along their jaw to kiss their neck, smiling at the contented sigh it earned him. “But I know you’re not like me there. S’not as if I haven’t noticed you trotting off for a few minutes of alone time after you’ve been rubbing me down at night. Figured you might like a little company for once.”

Zeg tucked themself more closely against his body and flailed a foot around until they snagged a heap of blankets that had been kicked aside. They heaved them closer and then reached down with a hand, dragging the covers around the both of them. “You weren’t wrong, Marcus.” Their hair tickled Nick’s face as they pressed their face against his neck while they settled and relaxed. “And now we will sleep _very well_ tonight.”

“I won’t… it won’t always…” He sighed, hunting for words. It hadn’t been this awkward to talk about sex for more than two decades, but it hadn’t mattered so much in… well, in far longer than that. And it did matter this time. He didn’t think Zeg would kick him out for his lack of interest; not after this length of time. Not after all of their careful attention to his comfort zone. But he could see himself having to share, see Zeg needing the physical intimacy that another person could provide. His arms clenched around their shoulders possessively. How long would they be content to rely only on satisfying themself?

“We know.” They reached up, eyes still closed but muscle memory unerringly accurate, to brush their smooth fingertips across his lips. “We don’t expect anything, no matter how gratefully we will accept whatever you give us. It’s not _important_ , Marcus. Enjoyable, yes, but not important. Not at this age and stage of life. Not when... “ They took a deep breath. “Not when I know you don’t need sex to want to stay with me.” Their lips were soft against his shoulder. “Now go to sleep, dear one.”

Nick felt his shoulders unknot. He rolled onto his side, reaching down to pull Zeg’s long, thin thigh over his hip so they both could tuck together closer. He felt their breath huff out against his chest, and traced his fingers along their side, intoxicated by the smoothness of their skin; how they’d made it for so long in this business with so few scars was a mystery. It suggested a level of competence that made his head spin and his heart rate speed up. He closed his eyes and tried to settle into sleep, but couldn’t stop himself from asking one more question. 

"You sure the place is secure?" He asked every night, and every night Zeg gave the same answer.

"Of course it is. We checked it ourself." They opened their eyes and smiled fondly up at him. 

He shifted to his back, one arm still wrapped tightly under Zeg's bony shoulders, and stared at the ceiling.

"Stop it, Marcus. Just go to _sleep_." They scratched their fingers through the wiry curls on his chest. "You're safe, and we're here to protect you."

“With those skinny little arms?” He couldn’t have kept the fondness out of his voice if he’d tried.

“These ‘skinny little arms’ are strong enough to choke a man, and strong enough to lift _you_." They settled agreeably against his side, sliding their leg along his thighs. Their hips flexed once against him as they wiggled into place, and then they settled snugly under his arm, head nuzzling in against his shoulder. 

Nick rumbled a little purr in response to both the words and the contact and buried his face in the satin of Zeg's hair. 

"Just one question for you, then." His voice was barely muffled, slurring toward dreams. "What's your real name? What do you call yourself in your head? What'd your mother call you?"

Zeg stiffened, and Nick dragged himself back from the edge of sleep to stroke one big hand down the narrow, sharp angles of their back. He had just enough time to think _That was a bad idea_ before Zeg’s temper broke over him in an angry hiss.

" _She_ never called me anything. Got rid of me as soon as she knew what a little freak I was." They sucked in a harsh breath, and he froze at the change in pronouns; Zeg only dropped “we” when they were very, very upset. "As for names, mine was changed as quickly as I changed guardians. As quickly as each new person that came along decided to mold me into something, anything they wanted. So go on then, Marcus. What would you call me? If you were given the naming of me, what would it be?"

"I'll leave the naming to you." Nick kept up the steady stroking all along their back and side, and he rolled to pull them against his chest. He hated how small they felt in that moment, holding themself in so tightly, ready to strike or run. "One thing I'll never call you is 'freak.' Not saying you aren't a bit freaky, but that just has to do with your taste in company, and not with how you were born. You’re gorgeous, Zeg. Beautiful and perfect, just like this." He could feel his cheeks getting hotter. “I wouldn’t change a damned thing about you. Not a single damned thing.”

"I... we thank you." Zeg settled slowly, muscles relaxing, shifting until their face, hot and damp with tears, was tucked against his neck. "You.. you may call me whatever you like."

"I'm kinda leaning towards 'baby.'" He kissed Zeg's hair again. "If that's okay with you."

They hummed, neither affirming or declining the suggestion, but Nick could feel their smile against his skin. "And you. What do you call yourself? In your head."

"Been trying to get used to Marcus again." He was swiftly sinking toward sleep under the gentle petting of Zeg's hand on his torso. "But, after thirty-five years with _no one_ calling me that, it's still Nick in there.” He chuckled. “It’s Nicholas when I'm in trouble."

"May we..." Zeg's voice was quiet, uncertain. "May we call you that?"

"What? Nicholas when I’m in trouble?" He smiled, giving up at last and letting his eyes droop shut. “Baby, call me anything you want.”

"Good night, Nick." They kissed his throat, and he slid easily toward sleep, ready for the dreams that still came every night. It was still hard to relax, but, knowing there was someone there to kiss him awake, to brush the tears from his cheeks, to touch his face and his arms and his hands until he knew where he was and who was holding him-- It just made it easier to cope. He sighed, relaxing against the sharp edges of Zeg leaning into him.

They, however, lay awake and listened to the pop of the fire, unwilling to give up on this singularly peaceful moment just yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If this--” Zeg swept a hand down the front of their body, indicating their clothing, their body, the fluidity of the gender inside-- “is going to be a problem, we’ll need to find a larger place. Something with room for a second bed, certainly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** This is the chapter where there's a disagreement about orientation and sex. Mentions of past shaming and attempts at conformity; (non-explicity described) sexual contact; 
> 
> Mind your comfort level. 
> 
> (I still promise you a happy, _comfortable_ ending.
> 
> ****

Morning Zeg was Nick’s new favorite thing. They always awakened growly and grouchy with their hair fluffed out in all directions from their head, giving the impression of a pissed off tropical bird. Nick generally got up first, padding around the flat in nothing but boxers to start the kettle for coffee, knowing that the surest way to drag Zeg’s long, gorgeous self out of bed was with the promise of something hot and dark for them to wrap their hands around. 

Zeg said that was the bedrock foundation for their entire relationship.

Nick poured water over the grounds and waited, watching the unmoving heap of blankets on the bed. A cloud of dark hair spilling across the pillow was the only indication that there was a person under the pile. The blankets wiggled as he pulled down two mugs, and the lump began to unfold as he pressed the plunger. Zeg had fully made an appearance, wrapped as usual in their favorite black silk robe, by the time Nick had pulled out the cream pitcher and a spoon.

“So what’s on the agenda for today, baby?” Nick finished stirring in the perfect amount of cream and held the mug out.

“Mmm, you need to wear that black on black pinstripe.” They shook the over-long sleeves off of their hands (and Nick wondered again where they’d found something that could possibly be long on those willowy arms) and stepped close to accept the mug and press a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “We cannot possibly go into today’s meeting without a decently-dressed escort. We wouldn’t be caught dead with that--" they muttered something in Dutch that just _sounded_ incredibly insulting-- "without a competent body-guard and respectable clothing.”

“Just so long as you don’t wear that yarn… _thing_ again.” Nick scowled over his own mug, gratified by the exaggerated eyeroll Zeg returned. Pushing them to irritation was rapidly becoming his favorite sport. “It looks like it’s eating you.”

“It’s a shawl. And it’s designer. And handmade.” Zeg shoved a handful of fluffy black hair off of their face to release the full glare, one eyebrow raised and their lips twitching as they tried desperately not to smile. “It was _obscenely_ expensive. And we love it."

“It’s hideous. Looks like Carnivale on acid. And it tried to trap me every time I touched you.”

“Maybe that was our plan all along.” Zeg dropped a kiss on Nick’s bare shoulder and padded across the room, tail of their robe sweeping dramatically behind them. Nick followed a few minutes later, heading to the closet to dig out the suit he’d been told to wear; he’d never admit to anyone that he allowed his… Zeg to dress him. 

Ever.

____

“Baby?” 

Zeg was nearly done dressing when Nick interrupted their thoughts from the bathroom door. His voice was small, hesitant. _That_ got their attention; Nick didn’t _do_ hesitant. 

“You almost ready to go?” Zeg asked. They looked up from where their hands were carefully knotting a tie under their chin. Nick’s face, reflected in the mirror, wore a small wrinkle between his brows, and he was clearly studying their back. Had they gotten something on their vest? Sat in something without noticing after putting on their trousers?

“I… what are you wearing?” When Nick asked, Zeg _knew_. 

“Clothing?” They intentionally kept their voice light. Zeg looked down at the outfit they had chosen for the day: crisply-pressed white dress shirt with French cuffs; knife-creased black trousers with the tiniest hint of silver pinstripes; garishly lime green tie in a perfect windsor knot; waistcoat to match the trousers, still hanging unbuttoned. Their coat was on its hanger in the other room. They reached down, pulling the the waistcoat tight around their ribs, shaking hands pressing each button through its corresponding hole. 

“You…” Nick trailed off, and Zeg looked up to see his reflection showing his eyebrows drawn together, his one good eye focused on the tie around their neck.

“What’s wrong, love?” Zeg turned and reached out to brush their fingers against Nick’s cheek. He flinched, and they dropped their hand as if it’d been burned before roughly shouldering him out of the way to get free of the claustrophobic confines of the ridiculously tiny bathroom. “Is something bothering you?” _Pretend we don’t know. Pretend he’s not killing us. Pretend pretend pretend._

It was a game Zeg knew well.

“I’ve just never seen you dress _like that._ ” Nick followed them as they went to collect their jacket with shaking hands, pulling it on carefully and settling it along their collar. They smoothed one hand over their head, checking that their hair was obeying the gel and staying sleeked back. If Zeg was going to hurt, they were going to do it looking _amazing_.

But… No. No, it couldn’t happen this way. Not after everything they had done for him. Not now that they had come to care. Not when their partnership wasn’t _finished_ yet. There was more to do. More they were supposed to do _together._

“Dress like what, exactly?” They crossed their arms over their chest, suddenly careless of wrinkling the neon tie that they had taken such pains to get perfect.

Nick looked at them, calm, level, his one good eye focused on Zeg’s face. His eyebrows were still drawn, but his expression didn’t appear angry or disgusted so much as _slightly confused._

Zeg licked their lips, feeling their shoulders relax, only a minute lessening of tension, but enough that they were able to breathe. At least they wouldn’t be fainting. Yet. Nick wouldn’t be _cruel_ , at the very least. And that, in the end, was what would break Zeg’s heart. Nick would ask Zeg to choose, to be something they weren’t. And, unlike for countless lovers who had never mattered, Zeg would look him in the eye and tell him no. Only fifty-three years it had taken them to finally learn who they were. And Nick would accept their answer, would _understand_ , and would still not be able to stay.

“Like a man.” Nick’s voice was as steady as his one-eyed gaze. “I’ve never seen you look like a guy.”

“Yes.” Zeg lifted their chin, refusing to cry, refusing to let him see how deeply this was hurting them. They didn’t know if that was to preserve their own pride or to protect Nick’s feelings. “We… see?”

“No, it’s… I…” Nick walked closer, reaching up to brush his fingers down Zeg’s lapel. He was still in his undershirt and boxers, waiting to dress until they had vacated the bathroom for him to shave, and he looked so soft, so vulnerable. Zeg wanted to touch him, draw him close and taste his mouth. They shoved their hands into their pockets to keep from reaching out. 

Nick sighed. “Okay, look. We haven’t really talked about all this shit, and we probably should have. It’s just...” He took a deep breath and looked up from Zeg’s tie pin to their eyes. “I’ve always considered myself straight. I _am_ straight. So it’s… this is...”

“I see.” They swiftly backed away enough to discourage physical contact, staying clear of those hands that had given them so much pleasure. Those hands that could rip their chest open and crush their heart. “And when were you were going to tell me that I’m not what you--”

“Dammit, baby, no.” Nick interrupted. He rubbed both hands over his face and across his scalp. “No. Stop. That is _not_ what’s happening here.”

“Nick.” Zeg began to cautiously inch toward him, reaching out to brush their fingers against his wrist. “ _Nicholas._ Look at me.” They waited until he dropped his hands and again met their gaze. “This is who we are. _This_. As you see us. We are… We are not a woman.” Their lips quirked. “Usually. But neither are we a man.”

“Is it because of…?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of Zeg’s body. 

"Because of…?” They squinted. “No! No, Nick. This is…” Deep breath to steady their nerves, and Zeg was ready to explain. Nearly ready. As ready as they would ever be. “Most people with our… condition, or conditions similar _choose_ a gender. Have a gender. However it happens. We wouldn't know. They are one gender or the other. And that works for them, because then they… they fit in. Better, at least.” Zeg fidgeted with a platinum cuff link. “I… We tried that, Nick. We _did_ try that. We have been both, at different times. We _tried_. But we’re… I’m not. I’m both. Or neither. I... wish I could, Nick. Pick one. Be a woman. For you.”

A large, calloused, warm hand cupped their chin, pulling their face up to meet Nick’s eye again.

“Hey hey hey.” He stroked his thumb over Zeg’s cheekbone, smudging the single line of dampness where one tear had escaped their control. “Whoa, baby. No, I…” He sighed, expression soft and helpless.

“If this--” Zeg swept a hand down the front of their body, indicating their clothing, their body, the fluidity of the gender inside-- “is going to be a problem, we’ll need to find a larger place. Something with room for a second bed, certainly.”

Nick crossed his arms, lips pursing as he looked them over intently. He hummed, a thoughtful rumble that didn't betray what he was thinking.

“Come here, baby.” 

Zeg blinked. _Baby? He still calls us baby?_ “What?”

“Come _here_.” Nick reached out to reel them close, hands slipping under their jacket, fitting along their sides with the comfort and ease of familiarity. His palms slid down and curved possessively over their hips, thumbs outlining the still-too-prominent edges of their hipbones. Zeg felt their breath stutter slightly, in spite of their desperation to _not react_ until they knew what to expect from him. He touch just felt so good. So right. 

"Baby, how…” Nick was back to hesitatant again. He licked his lips.

“How… what?” Zeg licked their lips in unconscious imitation a moment after Nick had done so.

“You’re still beautiful like this. Very _male_ , but beautiful.” He tugged them closer and let his hands slink around Zeg’s waist to spread across the silk back of their waistcoat. “Still feels like you.” 

Their breath stopped entirely as Nick’s mouth closed over theirs, whimpering when his tongue flicked lightly against their bottom lip before he pulled back to smile, small and kind and affectionate. “Taste like you.”

“Nick…” They didn’t know when their hands had come up to clutch so tightly at the soft cotton of his undershirt, knuckles pressing hard into the hot muscle of his chest. Nick was always so _damned_ warm, and Zeg, after so much cold, so much loneliness, couldn’t ever get close enough to the furnace of his skin. They forced themself not to press their whole body against that heat.

“Baby.” Nick was grinning outright now.

“What do you want from us?” They managed to squeeze the question out past the lump in their throat. Instead of watching Nick directly, they watched their hands spread across his shoulders, fingers crawling like ghostly spiders against the gorgeous darkness of his skin.

From the corner of their eye, they saw his face sober instantly. “Nothing more than I ever have. I just want _you_. Baby, you as yourself. I want all of you, every perfect, gorgeous bit.”

There was a long pause while they both stared at each other. Zeg bit their lip but was still the first to cave and break the moment.

“That was the most ridiculous thing you have ever said, love.” They laughed quietly. “When did the mighty spymaster become a hopeless romantic?”

Nick laughed, a deep boom of amusement that shook through his chest and into theirs. Zeg wondered if the windows rattled with that laugh or if that was just their world shuffling sideways two steps.

“When I met you?” Nick tucked Zeg against his chest, arms tightening around their skinny frame in the way that always made them feel so deliciously overwhelmed. “Imagine MY surprise when I realized I don’t mind so much, though.”

The two of them stood together for a long time, fingers tracing the outlines of each other's faces and bodies. Nick’s arms were relaxed under Zeg’s hands, and they couldn’t stop stroking over the swell of his bared biceps. He did have lovely arms. And chest. And mouth… Zeg hunched their shoulders, leaning harder into Nick’s embrace, slouching to make themself shorter. 

“So, what _is_ this, then?” They could barely whisper the words, frightened of the answer and unable to look away this time, knowing that _this_ was something they needed to see the truth of. “If you’re straight, but we’re not a woman…” The words trickled to silence

“I’m not in lo--” Nick stopped, eyebrows crawling up his face in surprise. He, closed his eyes for a moment, sucked in a quick breath, and tried again. “Don’t care about your gender, baby. Just… It’s _you_ , okay? However the hell you are, whoever the hell you want to be. Just _you_.”

Zeg bit their lip, uncertain what to say. How to feel. What to think. _Is this man real? Am I trapped in some twisted hallucination, still in that shit cell in the Fridge?_ But that seemed impossible. Zeg would _never_ hallucinate the weeks before they had gotten the call from Hawkeye. The weeks after that when they were forced to move out of their luxury hotel and into the tiny place they now (ironically) called home.

Nick pushed a small space between them to drag his eye down their body. “You DO look damn fine in that fucking vest, though. Hell, Z. _Look_ at you.” 

Nick’s hands on their waist tightened, and they found themself turned two steps and pressed against the wall, the flame of him pushing against them, pinning them in place. They circled their arms around his shoulders, pulling him in more tightly, holding on hard. Maybe they had this for a little longer. Maybe they would be able to have enough.

“N… Nick.” They stuttered as Nick began to bite his way along their jaw, lipping at every sensitive place he’d clearly memorized. “What the _hell_ are you… Oh fuck.” Their eyes dropped shut, head crashing against the wall behind them when Nick’s teeth reached the thin skin below their ear and bit. Firmly. “We will be rather late if you keep that up.” 

Nick bit again. 

“Also, we will need a few minutes alone.” Zeg whined as the cool air of the flat hit the wet patch on their neck when Nick pulled away and pressed his lips to theirs. One soft, chaste kiss, and then he stepped back, catching their hand as he went. 

“What if your ‘few minutes’ weren’t alone?” And that voice was new. Enticing. 

Zeg stared at him, not moving to follow the insistent way he was tugging on their hand. “What?”

“You heard me.” Nick grinned at him, a different sort of smile, one that was dark and slow and full of suggestion. 

“Oh. _Oh!_ ” They let themself be pulled across the apartment toward the giant, still sleep-rumpled bed against the far wall. “There’s nothing wrong with fashionably late, we suppose.”

____

Zeg was trembling against Nick’s fingers as he worked loose the belt around their slender waist. The tremor turned into a full-on shake as he gently popped loose the button on their waistband and lowered the zipper to let his hands slide underneath clothing, smoothing over the soft-- intoxicatingly soft-- skin of Zeg’s hips and waist. 

“Nick, what…” 

“Shhh, baby. Just let me…” He slipped his palms down the back of their slacks, and they hissed, arching into his chest. “‘M taking care of you this time, okay? Let me take care of you, yeah?”

Nick gave Zeg frequent massages, but touching them felt _different_ this time, as if their body had changed along with their clothing. The angles had less softness, the plains felt flatter. But the breathy gasps that fell from their mouth sounded the same, the whispers and pleas against Nick’s neck as his hands found sensitive patches on their back, their hips, their stomach were familiar encouragements.

“You’re good to us. Feel so good against us. Make us feel…” The dampness of their breath against his neck raised goosebumps. “God, Nick, you’re beautiful. Handsome. Incredible.”

Their fingers tightened against his shoulder blades, and they strained forward, as if trying to get closer to him. Then they said something entirely new:

“I _want_ you. Oh fuck! How I want you!”

Nick froze for one moment, and then, out of his control, his hands were stripping their jacket, shoving their slacks down, and he found himself lying on the bed with Zeg pinned under him. He kissed them deeply, rocking down with his hips as he bit at their mouth, until they were writhing, panting, clutching and clawing at him. Zeg’s eyes were closed, face flushed, hair starting to come loose from where they had smoothed it back, locking it in place with far too much product. Their lips were red and slick, swollen from Nick’s goatee and teeth.

They were gorgeous, and Nick was so hard that he _ached_.

The feeling was _new_. Not _impossible_ , clearly, since Nick had found himself having, er, _physical reactions_ to Zeg before. But a new sensation of _want_ welled up, leaving him trembling, hungry and desperate. He hung, indecisive, for a long moment, trying to decide if he was going to act on the impulse or let it pass. 

Zeg whined, twisting in a delicious slide against his chest, his stomach, his hips that shorted out a few of his brain cells.

“Fuck!” Nick growled, tugging Zeg’s tie askew to get at the button on their collar, trying to find more skin to get his teeth into. “Fuck fuck fuck! I want you, baby. Wanna fuck you. Fuck!”

Zeg stilled under him. 

“You can’t… you can’t say that to me, Nicholas…” They wiggled, shoving hard on his chest, nearly lifting him off of them. “You can’t just… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. I didn’t…”

Nick rolled, grabbing Zeg's hip to pull them along as he went, until they both ended lying on their sides, nose to nose. In easy range to exchange one more deep kiss, gentler this time. And then another, because that one had felt so good.

Nick took a deep breath, trying to ignore the masculine cologne that filled his nostrils, trying to look past the tie and the slicked-back hair to see Waarzegster, _his Zeg_ , underneath. His Zeg who had looked at him with eyes that were full of old hurts, expecting a new one to be piled on top. His Zeg who tried to hide how desperately they needed to be needed, to be _wanted._ His Zeg who never pushed and never asked and always gratefully accepted anything he gave and respected all of his limits. 

For that, for this beautiful creature, he could give in to an urge, let it grow into an action instead of letting it fade away.

“Did you mean it?” He slid his hand under the tails of Zeg’s shirt, fingertips finding the sharktooth ridge of their spine. “Do you want me, baby?”

They pushed up on one elbow, cheek propped against their fist, their free hand coming up to cup Nick’s jaw. 

“I can say with complete honesty that I always want you, Nick.” They leaned forward and pressed their lips against his eyebrow, directly above his damaged eye, brushing over the scars. “Have since… Well, since very early, at least.”

“And… I can… We can…” Nick sighed, wondering how much blood was filling his cheeks and ears instead of his, well, yes. “It’s possible to engage in…” He gave up on delicacy; surely delicacy was something they knew not to expect from him now. “Can we fuck?”

Zeg blinked at him in surprise for one long second before they flopped back against the bed, laughing until they wheezed. They were absolutely stunning like this: One arm flung over their head; hair coming loose from the gel to splay against the pillow in long spikes; face flushed and open; throat exposed behind the brilliant tie and crisp collar, bare from hips to knees. They laughed until tears squeezed from the crinkles at the corners of their eyes and one trickled down the perfect smoothness of their flawless cheek, amusement overwriting the path taken by anguish. Nick reached out to catch it with the same thumb that had wiped away the earlier tear.

“Yes, lover.” They sucked in a deep breath, clearly trying to get themself under control enough to answer. “Yes. We two can fuck. We would very much like to be fucked by you, in fact.”

Other than murmured directions to find requisite supplies and breathy commands like _there_ and _more_ and _harder_ , that was the last of the conversation for quite some time. Nick took them apart with his hands and his mouth and his body, and hoped they could understand the words he was thinking, feeling underneath. All the words he didn’t know how to say.

Afterward, draped across Zeg's legs, dizzy with completion and giddy from the rush, Nick tried to figure out just what the hell he'd been thinking when he’d suggested sex. Sexual attraction was nearly foreign in his experience. He had certainly never experienced it for someone presenting as a man before.

But... That was _before_ so much. Before Zeg's wicked eyes and mouth that had enchanted him at the bar. Before their gentle hands had begun to heal his body, sending him into restful sleep and staying close to ease him out of nightmares. Before their strange brand of beauty and their elegance had wormed under his skin. Before that calm, certain voice had called him attractive, beautiful, breathtaking, lovely-- words that Nick had never had aimed at him before. 

Zeg was right; the clothing, the presentation, the gender didn't matter anymore. Zeg was simply Zeg, and they were his new standard of sexy. From their face to their eyes to their hands...

Their elegant fingers slid over his sweat-dampened scalp, and he relaxed more deeply against their smooth thighs, cheek pillowed against their hip.

"We hate to move you, lover." Zeg's voice was thick with amusement, contentment, and affection. "But we both _must_ be at that meeting. Shower quickly and get dressed. There's a surprise with your suit."

"What'd you get me?" He pushed up to stroke both hands under Zeg's shirt, and they arched into the touch like a great, scrawny cat. They had added some weight, but they were still far too thin to quite be considered svelte. 

"New holster. We do so want to see what those shoulders of yours look like wrapped in leather straps."

"You're spoiling me, baby." He patted their leg as he climbed off the bed. "You're never going to get rid of me, you keep that shit up."

"Alas, you have discovered our master plan." Zeg's deadpan was somewhat dented by the pleased flush that tinted their pale cheeks. "Now hurry!"

____

Zeg lounged in bed while Nick showered, knowing they didn’t have long to relax and bask in their afterglow. Clearly, what the army had taught him about getting ready in a hurry, three am world security calls had perfected. Which was probably good, because the hum under their skin made them want nothing more than to sink into the bed and sleep, and there just wasn’t _time_ for that right now. The water shutting off after two minutes precisely (Zeg had amused themself timing it. Twice) dragged them back from the edge of a dream, and they rolled to their feet, searching for the clothing Nick had flung across the room as he’d stripped it from their body.

“So…” They pulled their slacks over their hips, pretending they hadn’t been lazing across the mattress. Nick strolled out of the bathroom, shirt on but unbuttoned, amusement all over his face; clearly Zeg’s subterfuge wasn’t working. They ignored the amused twist to his mouth. “Are you less straight than you thought you were, or are we more woman than we thought we were?”

Nick laughed, deep and rich before walking over to catch Zeg’s face in his hands and kiss their lips. They both lingered for a long moment, lips brushing, feather-light, before Zeg pulled away to finish tucking in their shirt and readjusting their tie. They frowned down at their formerly perfectly-pressed trousers and then shrugged; that’d been worth a few creases. They scooped up their jacket from the floor.

“Nick, just…” They watched him smoothly button the front of his black shirt, leaving the top two unfastened to forgo a necktie. “There’s one _other_ thing we’re trying to understand right now, love. You… said you were asexual, yes? At least, that is what you have _strongly_ implied. We’re not going to complain if you choose to do _that_ for our benefit again, but… But you don’t _have_ to. ”

He grinned at them, sliding his own jacket off its hanger and onto his shoulders.

“Yeah, baby.” Walking toward Zeg, his hands reached out to adjust the precise placement of Zeg’s carefully knotted tie. “Don’t get used to it, okay? It’s been-- mmm, carry the one-- A _long_ fucking time-- A long _not-fucking_ time since I…”

“Nicholas!” Their voice was a delighted purr. Making the most dangerous man in the world go boyish and stuttering again was their new goal in life. “You’re _blushing!_ ”

He kissed them hard, and Zeg smiled against his lips. Surely Nick was only trying to shut them up.

“Zeg, baby.” He kissed them again, casually, quickly. “Here’s the deal. I _like_ what we do. I love to… to hold you. Be held by you. The massages. Kissing that ridiculous mouth of yours.” He demonstrated, nearly derailing his monologue. “I love touching you. I really like watching you fall apart; you’re sexy as hell when you come. And this time, it just seemed like… Thought it’d be fun to try. And it worked, okay. So there was some… reciprocity this time. Won’t always be like that. Won’t _often_ be like that. Might never happen again.” 

They touched his cheek and smiled indulgently. “I don’t care, Nick. I really don’t. That’s not what I have you for. It was nice. More than nice. _Really_ damnably good, actually. But it’s just sex.”

“I’m serious about this, baby.” He smoothed their hair back from their face. “Mostly I’m just… not interested. Not in that. Rarely enough to say never. But I am _very much_ interested in you.”

They were certain their smile had reached ridiculous levels of sap and tried to pull it back toward smug. Based on Nick’s warm kiss to their jaw, they were certain they hadn’t succeeded. There was too much warmth, too much pleasure welling up in their chest. They were quite certain they had never felt so… desired. Wanted. Cared for. 

“Then we thank you, lover.” They kissed his cheekbone, holding him a bit too hard for just a moment before pulling away. “And it was very good.” 

“Don’t get used to it.” His face was serious, but Zeg could see the twinkle in his eye before he pulled on his new, mirrored sunglasses.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling.” At the door, they took his arm and leaned into his shoulder. “Now let’s get moving before we’re unfashionably late.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ragar has what’s yours._
> 
> Zeg’s hand clenched around the phone, eyes flashing. They had hired the man to follow Nick, to watch him, yes, but more to protect him. To _keep_ him from being taken.
> 
> **Tell us where.**
> 
> Zeg was nearly dressed before the reply came through, nothing but an address. It was _more_ than enough information. They would deal with the guard’s shortcomings later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings: Mild depictions of genre-typical violence; discussions of insecurities relating to orientation; fluff and romanticism and sweetness of a type to make your teeth ache.**
> 
> ********

Nick had not been away from home _that_ long. Not _really_. He’d been away for longer over the past several months, and any number of things could have come up, delayed him, temporarily prevented him from returning. Zeg rubbed their knuckle against their lip, trying to ignore the shiver of concern that thrilled down their spine, settled low in their belly as a hard chill. They frantically hunted for a distraction.

And there was one: when had Zeg started thinking of this place-- this tiny, ratty, one-room flat that they had taken out of desperation-- as _home_? More pressing, when had they begun to think of it as _Nick’s_ home? And did the two things happen independently of one another, or were they as inextricably linked as thoughts of Zeg’s future and thoughts of Nick had become?

And, speaking of Nick, where _was_ he? It was entirely too dangerous for him to go meet people that might recognize him from _before_. Zeg had _told_ him it was too dangerous, but Nick was not the kind to let a little something like the possibility of dying get in the way of doing what he thought of as his _duty_. And, _oh_ how Zeg had come to despise that word. As if _Duty_ would keep them both warm and safe and fed. And if _Duty_ could make Zeg feel as whole as they had for the past several months. 

Yet… Zeg could not quite manage to hate something so important to Nick, something so tied to Nick’s sense of self. Something he’d given up his very life for. The ideal for which he had given up any chance of a normal life, way back in the beginning. It was Duty that had kept Nick alone all those years. It was Duty that kept Nick at the helm of SHIELD when he realized they were sinking. It was Duty that had brought him to that dingy bar where they had met. 

No, no, they couldn’t hate _Duty_ any more than they would ever be able to hate the man it defined.

But _what was taking him so long?_ Zeg was chewing the edge of a fingernail now, teeth picking at the glossy red that was Nick’s favorite color, imagining every scenario that could possibly delay the toughest, bravest, slyest man Zeg had ever known.

The buzz of their phone on the sideboard rattled them out of a vision of Nick bleeding out in a gutter, and Zeg rushed to check the message.

_Ragar has what’s yours._

Zeg’s hand clenched around the phone, eyes flashing. They had hired the man to follow Nick, to watch him, yes, but more to protect him. To _keep_ him from being taken.

**Tell us where.**

Zeg was nearly dressed before the reply came through, nothing but an address. It was _more_ than enough information. They would deal with the guard’s shortcomings later.

____

 

The ropes were too tight. Of all the facts that could stick in Nick’s brain-- _I don’t know where I am,_ or _Zeg was right about me being too damned old to do this alone_ , or _Ow_ \-- all he could concentrate on was the tightness of the ropes. So he sucked in a deep breath and focused on them as hard as he could, twisting his wrists to try to draw blood. Blood would wet the rope, stretch the rope, loosen the rope. He pulled at the bindings again, rubbing his arms together, shifting, moving, concentrating on the goal and not the steps to get there. Rope, rope, rope, and goddamned _rope._

“Hullo, Ragar.” The soft voice that purred from the darkest shadows in the cavernous room dragged Nick out of that place where nothing mattered but the wetness covering his hands. And, _oh_ but the coming back hurt! He tried to be angry, wanted to hate the speaker for interrupting him before he was free, for making him aware of the burn of his abraded wrists, for leading him back to where the ache of bruises on his jaw, his cheeks, his temple made thinking so hard. For reminding him of the way breathing sent knives of pain lancing into his ribs and lungs.

But Nick would never, could never despise that voice. He forced himself to stillness, letting the wave of relief sooth the panic that accompanied his return from the world of rope and blood and desperation. Lifting his chin off of his chest, he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. A warehouse. A warehouse he’d never been in before. And why was it _always_ a fucking warehouse? And why always a _drafty_ warehouse? Just once, Nick wished he could wake up tied to a chair in a climate-controlled office building. Even a nice cell full of high tech observation equipment, like SHIELD had, would be a pleasant surprise. 

_Had the inclusion of technically-advanced cells been down to HYDRA?_

He shook his head, trying to get himself fully present, hoping he didn’t have a concussion to go with his creaking ribs and bloodied nose.

"Why do you have Mr. Johnson tied to a chair?" Zeg sounded bored, idly curious; Nick knew them well enough to recognize the rage that flowed beneath the surface, held at bay through willpower alone. Anger trembled in the drawled vowels, shortened the consonant sounds to vicious clicks. “And _beaten_? Are you and your associate there so weak that you couldn’t handle one such as him without resorting to brutality? You’re losing your touch, Ragar.”

A rasping husk of a voice answered, too quietly for Nick to understand the words it spoke.

"Oh no." Zeg laughed, a throaty chuckle that would have anyone who knew them at all running, panicking, hiding. Their _real_ laugh was rich and vibrant; this sound was violence distilled into sound. "That is _not_ SHIELD’s Fury." The shadows twitched, taking on a deep red hue. "What a stupid mistake! Are you blind or merely a fool?"

The red broke from the darkness at the far end of the room, stepping into the trail of lights from the bulbs that hung far overhead. The lights swayed with the wind that blew through the broken windows, and Nick felt a split on his lip reopen as he grinned. 

Zeg was magnificent dressed as Waarzegster, complete with high-necked, long-sleeved, heavy robe disguising the thinness of their body and their hair casting their face into shadow. Their spine was straight, shoulders level, pulling them to their full height that topped Nick’s own by at least two inches. 

"Fury is dead." They floated across the concrete floor, feet making no noise. The skirt of their scarlet wool robe swayed and shifted around their legs, looking as though it should hinder their movements. Nick knew better, though; he’d seen Zeg glide about the house, crawl all over the bed (and Nick) in a longer, clingier swath of black silk. Clothing treated Zeg’s body with the same deference as Nick did. Clothing loved Zeg as much as Zeg loved it.

And thinking thoughts like that was, perhaps, a decent indication that he did, in fact, have a concussion.

The raspy voice spoke again, still incomprehensible.

"Of course we’re certain." Nick could see Zeg's enigmatic smile beneath the jet black edge of their hair, lips painted with Nick's favorite lipstick, the one he thrilled to see smeared across his own mouth, down his neck and across his chest. "And that is _Waarzegster's_ substantiation. You know our word is inviolate."

Zeg sashayed closer to the two men who had begun the evening by launching themselves out of an alley to land in a heap with Nick. He tried not to lean forward to see what would happen; Zeg was far too tense, far too angry, for this not to get very _interesting_ very quickly.

“ _This_ man is Marcus Johnson.” Zeg crossed their arms, studying Nick’s face with their head tipped to the side. “He’s retired. He used to be a school superintendent. Hardly dangerous. Hardly important to world security.”

A different voice, thin and whining interrupted, and the throaty rasp laughed harshly.

“A motorcycle accident.” Zeg’s voice had gone colder still, and they shifted minutely. Nick began to tense as he and Zeg finally made eye contact. “When he was nineteen. You can imagine the fear a missing eye put into those under him over the years. But never into… Ah, no. That is none of your business.”

Zeg’s head swung slowly toward Ragar. 

“There is one other detail about Mr. Johnson that you failed to fact check.” Zeg smiled, bright, warm, full of humor, and Nick bit his lip, tasting blood from the split. That smile was his favorite look on Zeg, and he knew that, even though it was _aimed_ at Ragar and his associate, that look was _meant_ for Nick.

“What detail is that?” Ragar crossed his arms, looking up at Zeg, fearless, clearly underestimating the threat posed by the thin, delicate-appearing creature in front of him.

Zeg leaned down, as if to whisper in Ragar’s ear. Their voice, when they spoke, was the same clear, carrying sound Nick had heard calling from the shadows.

“Mr. Johnson is _mine_.” 

Even Nick, accustomed as he was to watching the likes of Maria Hill, Natasha Romanov, and Clint Barton fight, couldn’t tell where the knife had been concealed. It seemed to leap between Ragar’s ribs, and then Zeg’s hand closed around the hilt. The knife was withdrawn, and one graceful twirl brought Zeg’s hand up, knife sliding smoothly beneath the chin of Ragar’s spare goon. They pulled the blade free and stooped to polish it carefully on the man’s tie.

“Oh, my love.” Zeg crossed the space quickly and dropped to their knees beside Nick’s chair, hands reaching for the rope behind his back. He sighed with relief when their fingers brushed the back of his hand. “What _have_ they done to you?”

“‘M fine, baby,” he mumbled. He stretched out one hand as soon as he was cut free, reaching for Zeg’s face. He stopped short when he saw the dim lights flashing, reflecting off the wet blood that covered his palms and fingertips; wouldn’t do to smear that mess on Zeg. “I’ll be okay.”

“Hush, love.” Zeg collected Nick’s hand in both of their own and held it against their cheek, heedless of the blood. “Your poor, lovely hands. Your face!”

“I’m sure they regret their decisions now, baby.” Nick smudged his thumb over the blood on Zeg’s cheekbone. “You were… you were _damned_ amazing.” He coughed painfully, and Zeg hopped to their feet. 

“My love!” One hand cupped Nick’s face tenderly, and the other slid gently down the front of Nick’s torn, stained shirt to splay softly across his ribs. “Are any of them broken?”

“Don’t think so.” Nick coughed again, experimentally. “Little banged up, though.”

“Come along, then.” Zeg leaned down and bodily hefted Nick to his feet, taking most of his weight on themself. “We have a car waiting outside. We have used the driver before, and she’ll get us home safely. We will send her for a doctor for you after we put you to bed.” 

“Anybody else around here? What if Ragar had backup?” Nick leaned into Zeg, slipping his arm around their waist.

“There were a few others.” Zeg’s voice was snippy. “They’ve been dealt with. Keep walking.”

Nick concentrated on breathing and moving his feet, trusting Zeg to keep him heading more or less toward the door. As they both reached the edge of the light, before they stepped into the shadows, he stopped, pulling Zeg around to look at him.

“You were right, you know.” He reached up with a shaky hand to push Zeg’s hair back from their eyes. 

“Of course, love.” Zeg smiled indulgently at him, trying-- and failing-- to hide the worry in their eyes. “We’re always right. But what were we correct about this time?”

“I am yours.” He leaned forward, settling for pressing a kiss to their neck as he was unable to straighten enough to reach their lips. “Don’t know why you’d want me, but I’m yours.”

Zeg stared back, eyes hidden in shadow, mouth hanging slightly open, completely and utterly speechless.

____

 

Nick was finally sleeping. He’d refused medical attention-- not surprisingly-- but had allowed Zeg to clean him up, to tape the gash behind his ear, and to bandage his still-oozing wrists. Under the blankets, his entire torso was covered in bruises, and Zeg was clinging to their own side of the bed, afraid to move closer, afraid to jostle the mattress. 

But _oh_ , how they wanted to be closer. 

When the door to their flat had clicked shut behind them, alarm engaging, Nick had melted. All the stoicism he’d clung to on the ride home had gone out the window, and he’d buried his face against Zeg’s neck, arms around their waist, shivering against their chest. Zeg had whispered soothing words, stroking his back, his sides, his hips, trying to hold him close without squeezing any of the painful places. It had been difficult to restrain themself from clutching too hard, holding too tightly.

Getting him into the shower had proven harder still, with Nick’s hands stroking over and over and _over_ the front of Zeg’s robe. He’d fingered the black embroidery that cascaded over the shoulder, touched each of the satin frog closures down the front. And then he’d unfastened the collar himself before crowding close to again hide his face against their neck, lips brushing their throat. Even under the hot water, he’d shaken and trembled in Zeg’s arms.

The nightmares came as no surprise that night.

Zeg propped themself against a stack of pillows where they could watch over Nick, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Every time they would sink to the edge of dreams, they would again be hit with the vision of Nick, _their_ Nick, tied to the chair, face covered in blood, eyes closed, mouth set in a grim line. They’d think of the six guards that were incapacitated and tied around the back, and get hit by a wild wish to go back and finish them for their part in the injuring of Nick. 

They had finally turned off the images and drifted off when the thrashing began. They were awake in an instant, sliding across the mattress to get as near to Nick’s side as they could.

“Beloved,” Zeg said softly, hands braced on either side of Nick’s face as they leaned down to let their lips brush his cheek. “Beloved! It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re here, and you’re safe.”

Nick jerked out of his dream with a gasp and groan, hands reaching for Zeg before he was entirely awake.

“Shit, baby.” He pushed them aside and sat up, grunting as his ribs protested. “Oh shit. You’re okay.” Zeg allowed themself to be gathered back into Nick’s arms, trying to keep from leaning against the worst of his bruising as they were held close. 

“Of course we’re fine, love.” Zeg nosed along his cheek. “Why wouldn’t we be? _You_ are the one who took a beating today.”

“Doesn’t matter.” His arms squeezed tighter. “Seriously, baby, I don’t matter. But you… You went in there without backup. What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

“We were thinking they had you, Nick.” Zeg inched closer, sliding their palms across the back of his broad shoulders. “You were in there. It did not matter how many of them there were. We would have killed them all.”

“Nice thought, baby. I appreciate it. Really, it’s sweet of you.” Nick leaned back, grunting again as his ribs made him wince. He shuffled carefully until he could lean against the headboard. “But what if there had been ten of them? Fifteen?” 

“We would have killed them all.” Zeg repeated themself slowly, enunciating carefully. “No one is allowed to hurt you. No one.”

“Zeg, that’s…” He sighed, and stroked a finger down their cheek. “That’s… okay, I will never forgive myself if you get hurt trying to pull some daring rescue. You _can’t_ just go storming into a place like that.”

Zeg tipped their head to the side and let their eyes twinkle at him. “What makes you think we went in blind? That would be ridiculous, Nick. We haven’t made it to this age by being reckless, love. And we won’t start now.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Nick smiled crookedly, and Zeg leaned in to kiss the corner of his lips, trying to avoid the bruise and split where he’d been hit. “Look, just… You can’t get hurt for me. I need a promise here, baby.”

“We can’t promise that, love.” They kept their voice as gentle as they could. “The lives we lead, that we have led, don’t leave room for promises like that. Being with you is a risk, makes us a target. But you are just as at risk for being important to _us_. We would promise you the world, love, but we will _never_ make you a vow that we cannot keep.”

Nick sighed and slid his fingers through their uncontrolled mop of hair. 

“The worst nightmares aren’t the ones where something happens to me.” He looked away, eyes focusing on the fire. “The worst are when I’m dreaming about calls I had to make that led to people I gave a damn about getting hurt. Dying. Or, sometimes worse, when I just had to fuck with everyone’s life.”

Zeg turned to sit with their back against the heap of pillows beside Nick, stretching their arm across his shoulders. “Do you know why you made those calls, love? The circumstances that led to each one?”

“Of _course_ I know why I made those calls.” Nick gave them a glare, clearly asking if they were slow. “I remember nearly every single damn one of them. Because each and every time, I had to remind myself that I was willing to be the motherfucker that _this person_ was going to hate forever. And then I had to accept that. Had to learn to be okay with being hated.”

“That was the job you had, my love.” Zeg twisted, turning to put their back against the headboard and to lean into Nick’s side. “You had the job of making those decisions, of lying, of accepting the blame for deaths. It was a terrible job. And you took it so that no one else would have to.”

“They were the right decisions.” It was a statement, but he sounded like he was pleading. Zeg’s fingers began to stroke across his skin, trying to sooth away the tension. “They were the ones that kept down casualties, especially among civilians. Sometimes they saved the world. Once I even got to grow superheros. But that came at the cost of my best friend, the one man I trusted most in the world.” 

“Would you make those calls again?” Zeg pulled the blankets up, tucking them around Nick’s bare shoulders and around their own chest. “Knowing what you know now, would you make those same calls?”

Nick stared into the fire again, not answering the question for a long time. Zeg waited patiently, shifting until they could get both of their arms around Nick’s shoulders, rest their lips against his temple. 

“Most of them.” Nick’s unexpected words made Zeg twitch. “Most of those calls? I would do it exactly the same way. There are a few that had consequences I wasn’t entirely prepared for. But I did what I could at the time with the information I had available. Unlike some people, I can’t predict the future.” He rolled his head to meet Zeg’s eyes from inches away. “Fortune Teller.”

They laughed gently, leaning in to give him one gentle kiss. “Then you have nothing to regret, my love. Nothing.” They kissed him again. “And if we should be asked to sacrifice ourself for you, we will do it. Gladly.”

“I’m not okay with that, baby.”

“Then don’t take risks.” Zeg sighed. “We weren’t going to say we told you so… but we did. You _cannot_ go into these things alone. We _have_ people. You should use them.”

“I’ll think about it.” Nick shifted to carefully put his arms around Zeg and draw them closer to his side under the blankets. “I’ll do my best to stay safe, okay?”

Zeg hummed gently and stroked their palm along his thigh, one of the few places they could find that wasn’t battered and sore. “Your best is very impressive, from what we’ve heard. So we’ll take that as good enough.”

____

Sitting at an angle pulled on his ribs, making it more difficult to breathe. Nick refused to move, though, as he slid his fingers through Zeg’s hair, fluffing it around their face, brushing his lips along their temple. They were murmuring against his skin in a variety of languages, about half of which Nick didn’t know and couldn’t guess at the meaning of the words. Those he _could_ understand, he was choosing not to answer, not to call Zeg out on their unexpected openness. It was probably just residual concern from their evening of Nick-rescuing. 

“You were incredible in there, baby.” 

Zeg’s muttering broke off, and their head came up from where their nose had been making a careful exploration of his collarbone. Their eyes were wide, vulnerable in the firelight. “Really?” Their voice was small and pleased.

“Seriously. You were gorgeous.” He folded his fingers around one of their hands, lifting it to his lips. “Gliding in there like some kind of vengeful angel. Floating along like an angry spirit. I hated having my hands tied. Wanted to touch you.”

“You… that…” Zeg’s pale face flushed. “We just…”

“Wanted to peel that robe offa you right there.” Nick growled as he shifted to loop his arm around their waist and draw them closer. “Went from fearing for my life to thinking about getting you home and taking you apart.”

“Adrenaline can do that to a person.” The tone was perfectly bland, but Zeg’s lips were twitching as they fought down a smile. “I suspect that we two indulging in erotic activities right there on the floor of that warehouse would have been _almost_ as shocking to Ragar as what _actually_ happened to him.”

“Yeah, why _did_ you kill him?” Nick tipped his head. “Seemed a bit excessive. I mean, I wasn’t feeling too charitable at the time, but still...”

“Because he came after you once, love.” Zeg shifted infinitesimally closer. “And then he found out you were important to _us_. He would have come after you again. When he thought he was up against you alone, he was vulnerable. He would not have made that mistake again. And we will _not_ risk your safety or this thing we are doing here, this game we are playing with HYDRA, by being careless.”

“So… some of this is about SHIELD? And HYDRA?”

“Of course it is, lover.” They kissed him over each eye. “We owe HYDRA for what they did to us, what their Garrett did to us. And we owe SHIELD for letting you go, giving you to us.”

“Here I thought you were just in it for the money.”

Zeg began to pull away until they caught onto the teasing tone in Nick’s voice, and then they leaned back in to nip his jaw. “The money is fun, I grant. But knowing that we’re inconveniencing HYDRA, knowing that whatever is left of SHIELD has the two of _us_ as allies… that’s even more satisfying.”

“You are magnificent, Zeg baby.” Nick slid his hand under the neck of their robe, turning as much as his ribs would allow to face them. Their skin was soft under his hand, and he could feel their heartbeat speed up under his touch. “What say you take that off and let me show you just how incredible you are.”

“What?” Zeg pulled away, scowling. “You’re injured. _Traumatized_. What the _Hell_ makes you think I would, for one moment, take you up on that offer?”

“Well, like you said,” Nick knew he did not sound nearly as casual as he was trying to pretend he felt. But it had hurt him in the past, not being able to turn on his interest, turn _himself_ on when a partner wanted him to. “Adrenaline. I don’t want you to… get bored. Or to just leave you all wound up and hanging. And-”

Zeg cut him off, eyes flashing in the dimness of the room. “There is quite a bit more to life-- and to this relationship-- than sex, thank you very much. We can certainly go for at least one day without an orgasm. And we thank you not to put too much importance on _getting off_. Not for you _or_ for me.”

“It’s been two weeks, baby.” Nick was trying so _hard_ not to sound petulant, but it made him feel defensive, when he thought about how much Zeg had sacrificed: their space, sole control of their business, the right to bring in another lover... They were so sensual, so tactile. And, while Nick _enjoyed_ the massages and touching, long periods of kissing and petting on the couch, in the shower, against the wall, on the bed… it wasn’t sex. And Zeg _clearly_ liked sex. “When was the last time in your life you went two weeks without getting yourself off, at the very least?”

“First thing: two weeks, two months, two years. Who cares. I don’t _need_ sex. If I have a need, I can take care of it. I will not become _bored_ doing so.” They traced one finger along the outline of his lips, touch feather-light as it brushed across the bruising. “Second, it has not been two weeks. Only three days. You came home when our hair was wet from the shower a few days ago, remember?” They smiled suggestively. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourself, and we don’t need you doing _anything_ you don’t want to. This is enough. Having you here is enough. _You_ , as you are, is enough.”

“And if I do want to?” Nick skimmed his thumb down the sensitive stripe along the side of their neck to watch the way their eyes darkened. Aroused Zeg was beautiful.

“Then do let us know, because we will certainly be on board.” They leaned in to kiss him again, slow and gentle, mindful of his injuries. “But you cannot convince us that you are in the least bit interested right at this moment. And, after seeing you tonight, tied and beaten, _bleeding_ , we most certainly are not. We… I was terrified, Nick.” They kissed him again, thoroughly exploring his mouth, one hand tracing slowly along his arm, down from shoulder to wrist and even slower still on the way back up. 

It was several long minutes before they pulled away and rested their palm against his cheek. “Finally, love, if this is your way of asking if we want someone else, the answer is no.” They gave him one more gentle kiss. “And now you need to go back to sleep. Lie down, love.”

Nick smiled and let himself be eased back down the mattress, guided and assisted by Zeg’s freakishly strong, skinny little arms. They stretched out along his side, one hand again resting over his heart. Their fingers traced patterns against his skin, twisting through his chest hair as lightly as possible.

“You mean that, baby?” Nick asked after a long silence had built between them. “That you’re okay with this, with the way I am?”

“Of course, love.” They kissed his shoulder, wiggling closer. “This, between the two of us, is perfect. Absolutely lovely. It’s exactly what we wanted and never believed existed. You are exactly what I wanted.”

Nick risked his ribs to lean up enough to kiss their hair. “Hey, baby, about what you said at that warehouse tonight?”

“What did I say?” Zeg’s voice was already thick, hovering on the edge of sleep.

“When you told Ragar that I’m yours.”

“It _is_ true.” They were beginning to slur, clearly starting to drift away.

“It is.” Nick kissed their hair one more time before lying back down and covering Zeg’s hand with one of his own. “And I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have read so far, thanks for joining me in this PURELY self-indulgent fic. It was just an offhand line about how Nick deserved someone who would understand him, could protect themselves from the dangers inherent in being Nick's lover, and someone who wouldn't pressure him for sex. And then there was a discussion about how Zeg was still a badass assassin, someone kind, someone gentle, and someone who needed a little tenderness in their life. And then there was this story...
> 
> Thanks again, my darling readers. You are all very loved.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going up _right now_ primarily to get my beloved Zeg out of my ear for just a little while so I can finish Male Order Bride in peace. And then... oh, and then we'll see. I want to write Zeg's story, beginning to end, outside of their birth as an OC for an MCU fanfic. 
> 
> Beautiful Zeg: I am so in love with them, it's ridiculous.
> 
> With many grateful thanks to my beloved beta [Selana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selana/pseuds/Selana) and my cowriter/beta [Kathar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathar/pseuds/Kathar) for all they both did to help me get this story into shape, told the way I want it told, and written in a way that it says what I mean. Without them, it wouldn't be half so worthy of Zeg.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I would DEARLY love to know what you thought of the story. Drop me a comment or swing by my ask box at [faeleverte](http://faeleverte.tumblr.com). Your clicks, kudos, and comments are always appreciated.


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